


Drive Slow

by anika222



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anika222/pseuds/anika222
Summary: What it says on the tin: post-break up pining and angst and the long winding path of returning home.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 35
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

Baz

The sun went down hours ago, about the time that Bunce’s university mates left, and now we’re heading to the door of her and Shepard’s flat for the final round of goodbyes. I’m reaching my arm into my slate grey overcoat as I hear Snow laugh -  _ again _ \- at something Shepard’s said.  _ Did he ever laugh this much when we were together?  _ I push the thought away. Otherwise, a flood of memories of Snow breaking up with me last April are sure to replay in my mind. In slow motion, no less. It simply wouldn’t be  _ my _ brain if it didn’t go for the lowest blow, drawing out that pain for as long as possible. When I arrived for Bunce’s birthday dinner, I walked into her flat to see Snow looking relaxed and smiling, chatting with Bunce’s school mates. It took every ounce of practiced vampiric stoicism to push down Snow’s last words to me. I can’t let them bubble up now, not when we’re about to be alone for the first time in months. I button up my coat, willing my face into a cool, calm indifference as I turn and ask, “Ready, Snow?”

Much to my own disappointment, I practically tripped over myself to offer Snow a lift home when he mentioned the last bus was heading out a couple hours ago.  _ I’d do anything for more time in his warmth _ , I’d thought. But what I’d said out loud was some drivel about him staying longer for his best mate’s birthday or some such rot. It must have worked; he accepted after only a few awkward beats while he considered my offer. I had exhaled a breath I hadn’t even known I’d been holding in.

Snow’s wrapping his arms around Bunce in a massive hug, like only he can. “Happy Birthday, Pen. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Simon.” Bunce leans into his warmth and a lick of jealousy rises from deep in my belly. After what feels like minutes, she releases him and Snow turns to say goodbye to Shepard. Shepard had quickly become part of the team with his unique knowledge set, he knew the kinds of things simply not talked about in the world of mages. His obscure creature dossier had gotten us out of dozens of tight scrapes since America, much to the surprise of all of us. 

But perhaps even more surprising was how quickly Bunce and Shepard had gone from reluctant allies to dating to moving in together. I suppose facing death again and again together bonds some people. As soon as Bunce and Snow’s lease came up for renewal, Snow offered to find his own place. Or so Bunce told me in the few instances I could glean any information about Snow from her. She did her best to keep our friendship separate from what had happened with Snow and I. Though for her birthday, she asked to have dinner with all her friends together instead of separate celebrations. How could I say no when Bunce keeps only a few close friends in the first place? And anyway it had been 9 months since Snow ended things. It’s not like I hadn’t years of experience repressing my feelings for Snow while in the same room as him.

“Bunce. I hope you had a lovely birthday.” She grins at me and flings her arms around me.

“I did, Baz, thank you. I’ll see you Saturday to study?” While most of our courses are getting more specialized in our chosen majors, we always compare schedules and manage to find one course to take together. I don’t think either of us need our weekly study sessions to keep up on the material, though. It’s one of the things I look forward to every semester. This semester has been especially enjoyable in  _ Literature of the Victorian Age _ . I nod at her curtly with a small smile but turn quickly to leave, trying to mask my increasing anxiety about being alone with Snow as we head out into the sharp January air.

Simon

He still drives that posh, deep blue jaguar. My heart hitches with all of the memories with him in this car. I lower myself into the passenger seat. It smells even more like Baz in here than the hints of citrus ( _ bergamot _ , Baz told me once) and cedar I caught on the air each time he passed by me in Penny’s flat. It tugs at my stomach how much I’ve missed him. When he offered to drive me home, I honestly thought I might be hallucinating. But I was most definitely sober. Have been for 6 months. While I don’t think I would call myself an alcoholic exactly, I didn’t have a very healthy relationship with cider there for a while. It was a good suggestion my therapist had to take a break from drinking. It’s brought life back into sharper focus.

A focus I was cursing when Baz walked in. I knew he was going to be at Penny’s birthday, she asked me weeks ago if it was ok. But fuck if he doesn’t just get more and more fit. I would have given anything to break my focus from Baz, standing there, torturing me in his jeans. He had to have known what he was doing when he selected those trousers for this evening. I couldn’t meet his eye the entire night, so I can’t imagine what would possess him to offer me a lift. I can’t imagine a world where Baz doesn’t hate me after I broke up with him. After everything that led up to me leaving him. I almost turned down his offer, that I’d be fine to catch the bus, but I didn’t want to make a fuss on Penny’s night.

So I stayed. Letting the tension of everything unsaid build. Now we’re alone in his car and not saying anything.  _ Fuck _ , why haven’t I said anything to him all night? Maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward now. We’re sitting here, letting the silence fill up the car until I feel like I should crack a window like a pressure valve. Baz’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “Where to, Snow?”

“Right, erm, head north,” I say to get him started while I let my brain settle.

Baz

I’m panicking trying to find something to say. Snow can’t live far from Bunce. This contrived opportunity is quickly slipping away from me. He directs me to the main street with loads of shops and traffic lights at every intersection. He really must not be far if we’re not taking the motorway. I slow my speed to hover below the limit just enough that maybe he won’t notice my stalling tactic. 

I force myself to say the only thing I can conjure up, even though it’s painfully banal. “Bunce mentioned you started working at a vet’s office?” I draw on every reserve I have to keep my tone casual, as if the topic came up naturally in conversation with Bunce, and it’s not one of the few bits of information I greedily horde anytime I’m desperate enough to ask after him.

I see Snow sit a bit taller in his seat just mere inches from me. I’d forgotten how heady it is to be in such close quarters with him. I can feel warmth radiating from his arm on the center console and my chest tightens. “Yeah, I really love it. ‘S mostly dogs and cats, but sometimes we get something different. A goat was in just the other day.” His voice is saccharine and quiet with fondness and a tinge of melancholy. I know he’s thinking about the goatherd, Ebb. I realize with a start how … at peace? … he sounds mentioning one of the most traumatic events of his recent past. I’m slowing to a full stop at a red light (bless these main street lights that change every minute, drawing out our drive) and I decide to risk looking over at him. His smile lights up as he meets my gaze. I feel my face soften and the corner of my mouth tilt up ever so slightly before I drag my eyes back to the light, lest I miss the change to green and show my hand.

Simon

Before I knew what I was doing, I started directing Baz the long way to my flat, through town instead of speeding up the motorway. Something deep in my brain is making a plea,  _ drive slow, cause I don’t want to go home. _

“What about you? Have you a major?” I ask, as if I don’t already know. Penny lets information about Baz slip into her long rants and raves about uni every once in a while, and I just save up those little bits and pieces of him. It’s not the same as really knowing how he’s doing, but it’s something.

Baz launches into a long explanation of which majors he’s considered and why, before settling on English Lit. It’s unsurprising, really, that he’d major in literature. I’m looking out the windshield at the dark and wet street scene crawling by while I smile, thinking about Baz being so  _ Baz. _ I look at him out of the corner of my eye. This feels almost normal. We’ve never just  _ been normal together _ like this before. After years of hostility, we were thrown directly into the chaos of ending the humdrum. And then… well, then I wasn’t really fully present. I didn’t know how to live without directives from the Mage. They gave me the only purpose I ever knew, the only purpose I thought I’d ever get to have. So after that was all gone, I didn’t know how to go about living life. Me not living was keeping Baz from living. I couldn’t keep holding him back. As long as I was stuck, he was going to be stuck right there with me. Loyal git. What made it harder was I couldn’t get  _ un _ stuck with the pressure of Baz’s fate being tied to mine. So, there was no choice but to end us. But now... Now, we’re having a  _ normal _ conversation, like just a couple of  _ normal _ blokes, catching up. 

If I hadn’t been on a few dates lately to know better, I would have mistaken our conversation for a kind of date-like banter. But since Penny helped me set up a profile on a dating app, I know that most first date conversations don’t make a warm blush spread across my chest and redden my cheeks. They definitely don’t make me give shoddy directions just to draw out the evening. “Take a right at the next light,” I say.

Baz

We’ve crept along mainstreet for miles now, surely Snow isn’t so dense that he doesn’t know a better route from Bunce’s by now? We’re getting closer to where the motorway exits into this neighborhood. It could have taken less than 10 minutes via motorway to get here, which is a bit suspect, honestly.  _ Don’t question it, you got 25 minutes with Simon instead of 10 _ , I chide myself.

As we turn, the new Italian restaurant that’s been getting rave reviews catches my attention. Even though it’s late and their dinner service must be winding down, most of the candlelit tables still have patrons. “Prima - I’ve been hearing about it everywhere. Their chef, Lucien Ngono, supposedly works wonders with his scratch pasta.” I’m looking to say anything to fill the lull in our conversation.

“Yeah, ‘s really good.” Snow remarks, off-handedly.

“You’ve been?” I try not to sound too surprised. Prima is expensive and not exactly easy to get a table with the attention they’ve been receiving. In the pause before Snow responds, reality sinks into place. Snow’s been dating. My stomach drops. What did I expect? That he would sit around, mooning after me like I’ve done him? He broke up with me, after all. Silence creeps back in and fills all the available space, wedging between Snow and me.

“I’m just up here on the left, the brown building near the end of the block.” Snow directs me. I push the stick shift into park as the car comes to a stop near the old building. The click and swish of Snow’s seat belt has me holding my breath, bracing for the pain of his imminent departure. “Baz…” His voice is quiet and tentative. I turn towards him as he shifts, struggling to turn his whole body my direction. Our eyes meet, but I drop my gaze. This is much too close to look directly into his eyes while he’s talking to me in those low, rumbled whispers. “I…”

I hold my tongue and resist the urge to insult him. Instead, I wait for him to continue. 

“I’m sorry, you know. For. Well, for how distant I was.”

I huff. “Snow, I think most exes try to maintain some level of distance.”

“No, Baz. Um, that’s not…” His hand is at the back of his neck, harassing his curls there. He stops suddenly, bringing his hand down to his lap. He closes his eyes, and slowly breathes in. And out. When he opens his eyes he’s looking down at his hands instead of at me. “What I mean to say is, I’m sorry I was distant while we… when we were together _. _ ” 

_ When we were together. _ His acknowledgement of our history is jarring. I don’t talk about our relationship with anyone. I certainly didn’t think I’d ever talk about me and Snow with  _ Snow _ , of all people. I open my mouth, hoping I’ll find something, anything, I can say, but no words form. My mounting embarrassment is luckily interrupted by this gorgeous numpty looking back up at me, meeting my eyes. I can’t tear my gaze away this time. I can’t believe I’m watching Simon Snow make amends about the disaster that was our relationship.

“Would you want to get coffee sometime?” His voice is low and warm and full of hope and drawing me nearer to him. I’m leaning closer as he continues rattling on. “We could go to the shop you like, the one that makes your drink just like you like, whatsit, a pumpkin bravo something?” I want to close the short distance between us, but Simon’s eyes flick down to my mouth and back up, and I’m flooded with memories of every kiss of mine he’s pulled away from, every moment of passion he’s stopped short, and I can’t move any closer.

Simon

Baz is leaning across the console and I’m babbling nonsense about coffee drinks. My eyes drop to his lips and my heart squeezes in my chest. There was a time when kissing Baz and being kissed by Baz were two very different things. Back then, when I was the one doing the kissing, it was like sprinting passionately into a fight, greeting it head on. It filled me with a sense of power, of strength. But being kissed was something else entirely. It felt like losing control, being caught off guard; it felt like losing ground in a fight.

But this isn’t any of that. Baz is leaning in and the pull to meet him in the middle is washing through my body. I shift closer to him, leaning across the center console, giving him the permission he needs to press his lips to mine. I feel the rush of letting Baz lead our kiss,  _ fear and excitement truly feel quite similar, don’t they?, _ and then Baz is tentatively licking a small stripe on my lower lip. I part my lips and before I know it, Baz’s hand is around the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into our kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth and then drawing my tongue forward as he retreats. My hand reaches up and cards through his hair, grazing past his shoulder and skimming down the side of his body, coming to rest in the notch just above his hip. The warmth that started at the center of my chest shifts lower and I know I need to pull this back before I get carried away. I want to take this second chance with Baz slow, I want to rebuild our trust in each other first. It takes everything I have to pull myself away from Baz, from Baz’s pinkened lips. I pull a couple sharp gulps of air into my lungs, trying to catch my breath.

“So, coffee? Sunday?” I say between the rising and falling of our chests. I look hopefully at Baz. There’s a beautiful blush across his cheeks. 

His lips quirk to the side. “Yes, Sunday would be lovely, Simon.”

Baz

Simon is grinning like it’s the first roast beef dinner of the year at Watford, and there’s sour cherry scones for dessert. I roll my eyes so he can’t tell how chuffed I am at his excitement. He can probably tell anyway.

“Sunday,” he repeats.

“Yes, Snow,” I retort sarcastically. “The day has been established.”

He smiles at me again. “Bye, Baz.”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

He leans across and kisses me once more, strong and sturdy, but much too short. And then he’s out of the car and disappearing into his building. I’m in a stupor after being kissed senseless by Snow. I will my body back into motion so I can drive home. I take side roads and I drive slow, cause I don’t want to go home. If I go home, I might break this spell of whatever feeling this is filling my senses. Sunday will bring something else, but for now, I’m intoxicated by the mere potential of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

Baz

Sunday is a quintessentially English winter day - grey and wet and chilling to the core. I arrived at the cafe disappointingly early, despite my best efforts to arrive right at eleven. I check my watch for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. It’s only two minutes past and I’m already bracing for the possibility that Snow might not come.  _ He’s changed his mind. He’s remembered all the reasons why he left in the first place. The kiss last Thursday was simply a massive lapse in judgement.  _ On his part. For me, it was  _ everything _ . If I hadn’t still felt the imprint of his lips on mine as I drove home, I’d have thought it all a dream.

Doubt is growing, taking up more and more space in my head. I check my watch again. The watch Snow gave me for our anniversary. It has a gorgeous Italian brown leather band with rose gold case. I was astounded at Snow’s good taste. It’s not a Cartier, but quite lovely for what was available in Snow’s price range. 11:04. Crowley, time is moving slower than a numpty (they  _ are _ essentially sentient boulders.)

I’m starting to question everything. Did I miss something when we discussed when and where we were meeting? Was I too kiss-addled to remember correctly? Was I a fool for not confirming our meeting? I’m fiddling with the hardware on my watch, cursing my sentimental heart for wearing a gift from Snow, getting my hopes too high for what is certain to be an inevitable let down. Though admittedly, I didn’t think the let down would come quite so soon; I thought Snow would at least show up before crushing my hopes and dreams.

Simon

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m always late, but I took extra precautions today. I set about fifteen alarms to remind me when to start getting ready and when I needed to leave my flat. And when I really,  _ really _ needed to leave my flat. But here I am, dodging through people strolling along the pavement like it’s a lazy Sunday. Ok, I guess it  _ is _ a lazy Sunday, but can’t these people see that my fate, the possibility of getting back together with the love of my life, hangs in the balance?! It’s a cold, wet day, yet I’m burning up in my coat. I growl in frustration, and the lady in front of me glances back with concern, but then steps aside to let me rush past.

My heart is beating wildly, and I don’t think it’s entirely because of this unexpected cardio session I’m getting. My heart’s been thrumming since Thursday. I’ve talked non stop at Penny the last two days in anticipation of today, while she smiles, sort of sadly, at me. She doesn’t even try to enforce her Baz quota. I think she’s worried. She talks to me with that tone of voice she uses for her younger siblings, when she’s explaining some terrible truth about the world to them, like the humdrum stealing magic.  _ Fuck _ . Me and Baz aren’t as doomed as the humdrum, are we?

Well, there’s not any time to fuss about that, I’ve arrived at the small cafe near Baz’s flat that he loves. That he loved, anyway, when we were still together. Without pausing, I push through the door, huffing and loud. Probably should have stopped to catch my breath.

Baz

Even though I’m still fixated on my watch, there’s no doubt when Snow arrives. The door to the cafe slams open, and the bell crashes against the glass. I look up to see Snow, out of breath, with ruddy red cheeks (he’s beautiful) standing in the entrance, eyes sweeping the few tables until they hook onto me. His tentative grin makes me forget everything. Every worry, every minute perseverating over whether he would be here.  _ Of course he would be here. _ Snow doesn’t go back on his word.

He walks up to where I’m seated and I stand to greet him. “Snow.” I say in greeting, hoping the tremor I feel doesn’t make it into my voice. His eyes are fixed on mine and he seems to not know what to say. His gaze is uncomfortably intense but I find I can’t tear my eyes from his. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to watch his shades of blue shift in the light. Eventually, he looks down, surveying the table for whether I already have a beverage.

“Can I get you a drink? Your usual?” He says. My heart flutters at the familiarity. My throat works to make some sound of assent, but I give up and simply nod. When he turns to go to the counter, I sit heavily back in the chair, my legs feeling weak from the brief interaction with Snow.

He returns quickly with our drinks and unloads his coat and scarf onto an empty chair at our table. “Hi,” he says. He’s looking everywhere but at me.

“Snow.” The following stretch of silence is torture. I’m in physical pain trying to find something to say that strikes the balance of nonchalance but will also convince Snow to get back together with me. I think I can actually hear the arm of my watch tick the seconds by.

“So -” he says at the same time I start to ask how he’s been. (Truly inadequate, but nothing else was coming to mind.) “Sorry, sorry, go ahead,”

“How did you find a job as a veterinary assistant?” I resort to the conversation piece from last Thursday that lit him up most.

“Oh, yeah, Shepard met Dr. Patel when he was trying to track a gulon. He saw it get injured, thought it might end up in a veterinarian’s office. You know Shep: he became fast friends with her, found out she was looking for an assistant, and recommended me.” He recounts, smiling incredulously at Shepard’s ability to charm his way in or out of any situation.

“And you like it?” I prompt him, hoping he’ll talk forever about this, as long as it keeps lighting up his features like this.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess at first I was a little surprised, what with my track record with maybes.”

I huff a laugh at the American slang for magical beings, “ _ Maybes? _ I think you’ve spent too much time with Shepard.” He grins. I’m not surprised in the least that he excels in working with animals. Simon never wanted to hurt any of the creatures launched at him in battle, it was always out of necessity. His nature is gentle and caring to his core.

“But dogs and cats and the like, they don’t need much. Just a little food and cuddles and they’ll love you forever. It’s calming to be around them. Um,” he hesitates, breaking eye contact and looking uncertain of whether he wants to continue. “‘S helped a lot with the depression.”

My heart cracks open at his admission, his vulnerability. A little jealousy slips in, too, that it wasn’t me that could help him be happy. My mouth suddenly feels dry. I swallow and it feels loud and exaggerated.

Simon

Baz is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place. I was worried he would pity me, but this is something different. He looks in pain, like when we roomed together at Watford, it’s a look I would have mistaken for hate.

I don’t want to dwell on this point so I change the subject. “How’re classes? The term just started, yeah?”

Baz’s expression returns to a neutral expression, “Yes, they’ve just begun, though you wouldn’t know it with the workload they’ve given us.” I smile at his complaint, knowing Baz is perfectly content with a big academic load, especially if it’s all English Lit classes. He’s in his element.

“You’ve a class with Penny?” He hums his agreement as he sets his cup down. I continue, “she mentioned you study together on Saturdays. D’you study with anyone else in class?” It’s a pathetic attempt to see if Baz’s social circle has widened since we broke up. To suss out if there’s anyone special in his life.

He laughs. It’s beautiful and light and happy. “No, you know Bunce. She hasn’t time for any more than 2.5 friends.”

“Dev and Niall, how are they?”

“Quite good. They rather enjoy some of the more  _ social _ aspects of university.” I assume he means parties and drinking. Dev and Niall seemed to be the reason Baz went to any social functions at Watford at all.

“Um. Do you?”

“Do I  _ what,  _ Snow?”

“Erm, enjoy the  _ s-social _ aspects of university?” Fuck, my stutter is coming out. He’s definitely going to know I’m nervous.

His eyebrow raises. “Every once in a while they’ll drag me out, but you know I don’t enjoy parties much.” There’s a note of suspicion in his voice.

Baz

Snow was never a great conversationalist, but this is starting to feel more like a line of questioning than catching up over coffee. He’s starting to fidget and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Have you met anyone new?” Snow spits it out, like it’s all one word instead of a full sentence. I’m so stunned I sit back in my chair. He wants to know if I’ve _ met anyone. _ Does he want to know if I’m dating? My stomach flips and drops, then flips again at the implication. It seems there’s an Olympic gymnast in my torso.

I sit forward again, my muscles tensing in the effort to remain impassive, cool, and collected in the face of his interest in my romantic status. “I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

He blushes, but looks more pleased than embarrassed. I try to keep my hopes tempered, but I can’t help but consider that Snow’s concern for my romantic life is due to his personal interests, and not simply curiosity.

Our conversation becomes lighter and easier, a slow return to familiarity. We talk about Snow living on his own, the whirlwind romance of Penny and Shepard. Snow even asks after Daphne and Mordelia, but leaves Malcolm and Fiona out of the conversation. I think he gets nervous even talking about them. Our coffees are long finished when Snow realizes the time, “Oi, I have to get going.” I feel my face fall, ever so slightly.

“Baz…” Snow says softly. It feels so  _ intimate _ and my pulse is racing from hearing my name in his voice _. _ He reaches out and his hand hovers just over mine, like he might take it, and I’m quite honestly holding my breath. At the last minute he pulls back, and I look up at him curiously. 

Simon

“The watch,” I say, my smile widening, fully betraying how chuffed I am that he’s wearing my gift. Baz doesn’t wear anything without full consideration, usually of fashion, but he’s chosen to wear the watch I gave him for our first anniversary. I doubt it could live up to his taste, but I spent hours trying to think through what he might like and would fit his style.

Baz isn’t saying anything. He’s watching me, watching my reaction. I’m suddenly filled with embarrassment. What if it just happened to go with his outfit? What if he doesn’t even remember that it was a gift from me? It could actually mean nothing at all and I’ve just gone and completely mucked up the nice time we were having. I can feel panic filling my nerves and urging me to escape.

“R-right,” I stutter, breaking the silence. “Best b-be off.” I stand up and the chair clatters loudly against the floor. I hastily grab my outerwear from the chair and don’t even bother pulling it on. I’m sure the heat of my shame will keep me sufficiently warm during the walk to Penny’s.

“Snow -” I barely hear as I slip out the door and half run towards Penny’s.

My mind churns. I can’t believe I was about to ask Baz on a date and interrupted myself to comment on his watch. I’m both relieved I didn’t give him the chance to turn me down and angry at myself for not following through with it. By the time I get to Penny’s I’ve cooled down a bit, both literally and figuratively. I stand outside her flat, flipping my mobile over and over in my hand. I’m considering if I should just text him now, ask him out and get it over with, or forget it entirely. My mobile chimes with an incoming message.

**Baz 1:37:** Simon, would you go to dinner with me Friday?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope you enjoy this latest installment! You can find me over on tumblr @anika-222 😊

Baz

**Baz 13:37:** Simon, would you go to dinner with me Friday?

If I thought I could die, I’d genuinely be worried my heart has stopped. I’m back in my flat, alone. It’s just after our coffee date and I’m staring at my traitorous phone; as if it typed and sent the message without my consent. Three dots start waving on my screen and I’m holding my breath. Thank Merlin I don’t need much oxygen. I exhale dramatically when Simon’s text appears, saying yes to the date. With me. This Friday. I sink down into the armchair in my sitting room and feel the weight of the last nine months apart from Simon start to lift. It feels like a small crack of light filtering into a dark room. Even though I’m completely alone in my flat, I feel the corners of my mouth tilt up in a half smile, and hope fills my chest.

Crowley, he’s agreed to the date, that means I need to plan what we’re going to do. I deflate just as quickly as I’ve let my hopes get up. I want to go over the top to show him how much he means to me, and how much I’ve ached for him, but my sharp instincts pull me back to reality. I don’t want Simon to feel pressured into moving as quickly as I want.  _ As quickly as I want. _ I scoff to myself considering the urge I felt to sling Simon over my shoulder, carry him up to his flat, and devour him in his own bed that night after I drove him home. Devour him metaphorically speaking, of course. However, what’s important now is building our foundation, the steps we kind of skipped the first time round.

I want to plan something that’s  _ Simon _ , that will make him feel comfortable and cared for. 

Simon

Baz texts me a few days later to finalize the details for Friday. It feels silly to be so giddy over a text about what time he’s going to pick me up but I’m smiling like a fool at my phone during my lunch break when Dr. Patel walks into the back room. My heart is fluttering at the possibility that texts from Baz might start being a part of my life again.

“You look happy, Simon,” she says. I grin at her and dodge the comment by turning to the microwave to begin heating up my lunch. “Any fun plans this weekend?”

It feels a bit strange to tell my boss about a date with my ex. It makes me feel a bit juvenile, but Dr. Patel has always been so kind to me. She even knows a bit about Baz from times when Penny has come by to have lunch with us. The microwave beeps and even though I know electronic bells don’t work on Penny’s spell to unleash my wings, I feel the panic spark through my nerves briefly. The fear of my wings revealing themselves in front of Normals at any point in time kept me on a couch drinking ciders for over a year (in part, at least.) 

“Might do,” I say, stalling a bit to figure out exactly how I want to phrase this. “‘M having dinner with a, uh, old friend Friday.”

“That sounds lovely,” she smiles warmly at me. My cheeks heat up. She probably realizes blokes don’t normally blush fuchsia when they’re just catching up with old friends, but if she does, she doesn’t say so.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Penny arrives early to spell my wings in on Friday morning and to help me look at outfits before we have to go to work and uni. I’ve dumped eight shirts on the floor in rejection and my closet is looking a bit sparse. Shepard came with her and he’s sitting on my bed playing  _ Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild _ on the Switch. It was the first big purchase that I bought for myself after I paid rent and bought the necessities for living alone. Penny suggested it after I spent a few too many nights falling asleep at our old flat, now their flat, playing Shep’s PS4. She may have strongly hinted that I was infringing on their  _ alone time _ . But it was a good idea, anyway. It was hard to feel ok buying something so expensive that I didn’t really  _ need _ . But my job at the vet clinic is stable hours and good pay, and I was paid up on all my bills and even had some savings. I guess I also have that pile of leprechaun gold, but it still feels like a rainy day fund.

Penny’s now sorting through what remains on hangers in my closet, holding up a shirt for every five she passes by. I groan when she pulls out a blue plaid button up. I want to look good, but I hate wearing button ups. I wrinkle them almost immediately and I’m uncomfortable in them. “Hush, Simon,” Penny says as she opens a drawer in my wardrobe and pulls out a beige jumper her mum, Mitali, bought for me a few Christmases past. I don’t normally wear it. I prefer blues and greys.

“This,” she lifts the button up, “under this,” and holds the jumper over the shirt. I squint suspiciously at her suggestion, but try it on anyway.

“Wow, dude!” Shepard’s finally looking up from the Switch. “I’d definitely go on a date with you.” Penny smirks and rolls her eyes, managing to look both completely enamored and completely annoyed at the same time.

She turns her attention back to me, smoothing down my collar, then buttoning the top button. She scrunches up her face and unbuttons it again, stepping back with an appraising sweep of her eyes. “You look right handsome, Simon,” she says. I can tell she knows how nervous I am because she’s using that soft tone of voice again. It’s very un-Penny-like. I scrutinize my reflection. I wouldn’t have ever put these together like this, but I have to admit I do feel  _ fashionable. _ After spending the last year of my relationship with Baz in unwashed hoodies, this feels like a major upgrade. My stomach is flipping again, and Penny looks concerned when the smile drops off my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“‘S nothing, I’m just nervous. I want it to go well so badly.”

“It’s going to be ok. Even if it’s not ok, then you’ll know, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing my nerves. “Then I’ll know.”

Baz

The drive to Snow’s flat Friday evening is littered with memories from driving him home and kissing him just over a week ago. I turn at that upscale restaurant, Prima, and my gut twists a bit remembering the conversation revealing Snow had been dating. I almost made a reservation for Prima, before deciding something less posh would probably be more comfortable for him, not to mention remind me less of him dating other people.

It feels strange to be walking the steps to Snow’s building and ringing the bell after years of living together at Watford as roommates. It feels like a proper first date. We didn’t go on many dates when we were together. Everything between us happened so quickly and dramatically, and then we fell into a routine of me coming to his flat where I would just hang about while he became more distant and drank more ciders. I try to shake those sad memories away before Snow comes to the door.

He emerges from his flat, rosy cheeks highlighting his freckles and a grin pushing his eyes into two blue squints. He’s as gorgeous as ever, causing my heart to stutter several beats per minute faster than usual. “Ready, Snow?” I say shortly, my nerves bringing out my less-than-gentlemanly side.

I take us to the Indian restaurant where we used to do take away once or twice a week, Darbar. At our table, Simon takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair before sitting. I try not to stare, but Simon is stunning in an oatmeal-coloured jumper with bright indigo plaid cuffs and collar peeking out. I’m still standing with my coat on while he looks up from his seat. I see his head tilt the smallest degree with curiosity. I try to quickly place my coat on the nearby hook and join him while maintaining an air of grace.

The waitstaff fill the awkward silence with menus and drink orders until I’m alone with Snow. “Everything looks so good.” Snow’s studying the menu almost as intently as I am him.

“Order anything you want,” I respond immediately. I inwardly groan at how eager I sound. Truth is, I’d order every item on the menu if I thought the way back to his heart was through his stomach. _Actually, that’s not too bad an idea,_ I think as I glance at the menu, hoping Snow doesn’t notice how thirsty for him I sound.

His blue eyes meet mine under his lashes and I bite the inside of my cheeks just to keep from swooning. “What’re you having?”

I haven’t actually paid any mind to the menu, but he probably knows I don’t need to. I never strayed from my favorite dish while we were together. “Lamb biryani,” I reply. He smiles knowingly. It feels wonderfully sincere and warm, like every hug he’s ever given me. This exchange feels more intimate than our kiss last week.

Our conversation over dinner is full of fits and starts, like a toddler learning to walk. Some of it is full of familiarity, but some of it feels so unknown. I feel like I’ve lost some part of him, being without him for so many months. I want a crash course in everything Simon Snow, to fill in my timeline and help me connect the Simon that broke up with me to the Simon sitting opposite me.

Simon

Baz is studying me so intensely I honestly thought I might be too nervous to eat. Luckily, the familiar smells and tastes of our favorite Indian spot win out over my nerves and my hunger returns full force. I’ve finished off my entree and the samosas Baz “ordered for the table” and now I’m eyeing the last piece of naan (there’s still delicious curry sauce lining my plate to be scooped up.) Baz nudges the plate towards me. I grin and try to think of how I can get him to talk some more about him. He’s been quiet, prompting me with questions here and there about the animals at the clinic, and Penny and Shep, while I chatter on.

Our conversation has hit a lull and I’m desperately working my brain to find something to say, when he leans in conspiratorially. He looks bloody gorgeous as he curls his lip into a half smile almost as expertly as he raises his eyebrow ( _ almost _ .) His voice is low, both in pitch and volume, as he says, “Let’s go flying.” I think my eyes must sparkle from the rush that rolls through me because Baz’s lips spread into a full smile. He sets a pile of bills on the table and before I know what’s happening my hand is in his as we grab our coats and head for the door.

In the car, my nerves catch back up with me while Baz is focused on driving us into the country. Our village isn’t big, but it certainly wouldn’t be proper smart to unleash my wings at 9pm on a Friday night there. My leg is bouncing as I consider the few dates with Normals I’d been on. I had to be so careful to keep my wings concealed from them. I hadn’t been eager to share my anatomical secrets, but it also felt off to keep such a big part of myself tucked away. Though Baz obviously knows about my wings, it was one of those topics we used to avoid. Er, I guess  _ I _ did, anyway. I haven’t completely sorted it out, but losing my magic while keeping my wings (and tail) felt like losing everything that made me special at the same time I sprouted a big billboard that said ‘I’m different.’ It was a lot easier to avoid the discomfort than talk about it. Well, it was easier in the short term, I guess.

Baz continues to be quiet during the drive and I’m distracted by how close his hand resting on the gear shift is to my leg. He downshifts and turns onto a dirt road, taking us farther and farther from any city lights. He slows to a stop, pulling the car into a field and turning off the engine. We turn towards each other and it feels like all of the electricity from our snog session last week is still infused in his car. “Ready?” he asks. I nod before I remember he’s referring to flying. I’m ready for anything Baz has to offer.

Baz

The entire car ride I listened to the quickened pace of Simon’s heart beat and overthought why exactly that might be: whether it was me, or the flying, or the driving out to the middle of nowhere with his vampire ex-boyfriend. But when we step out of the Jaguar, I watch Simon’s shoulders visibly soften. His grin is taking up half his face and I’m feeling like a right genius for suggesting flying. Perhaps I should have encouraged this a lot more when we were together, if it’s got him this happy.

I watch as he removes his coat, then jumper, then button down, throwing each layer in a messy pile in the back seat. He’s dressed down to his sleeveless undershirt when he fishes into his pocket and pulls out the tiniest of bells. He gives it a quiet jingle and his wings pop up and out with an audible rush of wind, undoing Penny’s wing-concealing spell. He blushes when his eyes meet mine and he finds me watching him. He pulls his coat back on, maneuvering his wings through two slits hid craftily under a storm flap.

He looks back at me tentatively, like now that we’re here and his wings are unleashed he hasn’t got the slightest clue what to do next. “Go on, carry on, then.” I say, flitting my eyes to the sky. With that permission, Simon is stretching his wings to their full span and with a couple flaps he’s rising up above me, then the tree line, and further, moving gracefully into gentle airstreams of this calm night.

After the car engine has time to cool (it doesn’t take long since it’s early February), I lie back on the hood of my car and watch Simon swirl and swoop overhead. He’s flapping with confidence and gliding gracefully. This may be the only time I’ve ever described him as  _ graceful. _ He looks thoroughly powerful and beautiful and I allow myself the briefest moment to let my guard down and bask in warm thoughts of Simon.

My thoughts meander like Simon’s lazy figure-eights I’m tracing in the sky and slowly the memories playing in my mind morph from his strength and beauty to the weeks,  _ months _ , of his darker days. I would have done anything to help bring him to this glorious state, where he’s liberated and (dare I say?) happy. It’s hard to accept that the best way for me to be there for him was to actually not be there. Is there any room for me in his life now? Now that he’s found this peace and contentment alone, how could he even want me around?

His silhouette is growing larger as he returns and glides back down to earth with the widest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen across his face. His face is red and wind chapped from the cold but as he walks nearer warmth rolls off his body from his earlier exertion. He sighs as he unbuttons and shrugs off his coat to let the cold winter air cool him down. I’m positive I can see rivulets of warm air rising from his now-exposed skin and mixing with the February air.

Simon

I can see my breath huffing out in little clouds in the cold, night air. I’m still breathing heavy from the effort of flying and no matter how hard I try to keep it in, my smile feels like it might burst right off my face. Baz looks totally content watching me fly, laid back on his car, leaning on his elbows. I briefly consider an alternate timeline where I’m crawling over his stretched out body and lowering my lips to his, but I draw myself back to this reality where we’ve only been talking again for a week and I’m still trying to figure out where this is all going.

As much as I enjoy flying, I want to be with Baz tonight. I start considering the various factors of flying  _ together _ . Even though I’ve flown Baz to safety in battle, we’ve never flown together for long or for fun. There’s more to consider when I’m not lifting him out of the heat of a fight.

Between his vampire strength and my strength (not superhuman by any means, but I’ve always focused more on the physical aspects of battling, even when I had the magic for spellcasting), I know I can hold him. With more weight, I would certainly fly slower and not nearly as high. Getting off the ground is the hardest part. And then there’s the thought of how we’d be positioned to hold on to each other… I feel my cheeks heat up even though they were already quite warm.

“Snow, what are you thinking?” It’s unsurprising that Baz can read my expressions so expertly, but I am surprised that the question isn’t buried in some veiled insult about my intelligence. I decide to file that away to think on later.

“Well, er,” I stumble into my answer, unsure of exactly how much to say. “Just that it’d be nice to spend tonight together.”

“We  _ are _ together, Snow,” he emphasizes. Baz’s classic brand of snark emboldens me.

“Like, it’d be nice to  _ fly _ together.” Baz pushes off his elbows, sitting at attention. He looks nervous. He’s not afraid of heights and I just totally forget, right? I think of his leap off the ramparts during the battle with a dragon at Watford in our seventh year and decide that can’t be it.

“Do you think your wings could carry the weight for long? Have you tried flying very far while carrying anything?” Baz is analyzing this faster than me. I shrug at his first question and shake my head no at his follow-up.

“Couldn’t hurt to try?” I say, hopefully.

Baz rises from the car’s hood and takes one tentative step towards me. The air feels thick between us, charged with anticipation. “How should we do this?” He asks.

We get situated with his arms around my shoulders and mine wrapped tightly around his back.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready.”

I start to flap my wings and can feel them easily take my weight and lift my feet off the ground, but with Baz’s height, his feet are still on the ground and it’s a moment before I can attempt to take up his weight. My wings falter as I try to lift him simultaneously into my arms and off the ground. I let my feet touch down again and we release each other.

“I think I need to lift off already carrying your weight, like your feet can’t be on the ground.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Ok, how could we do that?”

I take a moment to consider the various options. He can’t hold on from behind, piggyback, because my wings need room to move. So that leaves two options: scooping him up bridal style, or like we were before but with his legs wrapped around my waist. The latter option would better allow him to use his strength to hold on.

“Um, you could … wrap …” I’m tripping like mad over these words that could have  _ such _ a different interpretation in another context. I take a deep breath in and out to calm the little flames licking below my stomach. “I think if you put your legs around my waist, it might work.”

He swallows and slowly closes the gap between us. He returns his arms around my neck, this time shifting his weight to my shoulders while he reaches one leg around my waist. I hold tight under his thigh so he can bring his other leg up as well. Once he hooks his ankles together and feels more stable and I shift both my hands to hold him fast around his back. My heart is pounding so hard, I don’t think Baz even needs his vampire senses to feel each beat where his chest is pressed to mine.

I re-focus on the task at hand before I lose my nerve. I steel myself and begin pumping my wings. It’s significantly more work, and my wings are practically doing double-time just to get us moving. But soon, bigger and bigger drafts are forming beneath them and we’re lifting off the ground. As we rise a couple feet into the air, Baz grips me tighter with his arms and his legs.  _ Definitely worth the effort, _ I think to myself.

As we get just past the tops of the trees I can tell this is about all the altitude I’m going to get with Baz along, but it doesn’t matter. The skyline appears, and we’re surrounded by inky black and stars strewn all around us. Baz lets out a small gasp. I smile. I so want to see his face, but I don’t think we can keep holding on if I leaned back to look.

I take my time flying a wide circle above the field where Baz’s jag is parked. The silence between us feels calm and comfortable even though having so much of Baz pressed up against so much of me is causing my veins to simmer.

I start to descend before I get too winded from the extra exertion (or too light headed from the contact with Baz). My feet connect with the ground and I have to take a few steps before the inertia from flying allows me to stop fully. Baz releases his legs down but we both hesitate before relaxing our hold on each other. It felt so good to have a reason to touch him without overthinking all the questions surrounding touching him.

His hand ghosts down my arm as he steps back. “ _ Simon _ ,” his voice is swollen with tenderness and tears immediately form in my eyes from hearing my first name on his lips. Fucking hell, feeling your feelings can be  _ a lot. _ I feel my pulse in my throat and I try to swallow it down. He looks so lovely with his head tilted to the side and his lips parted ever so slightly as he continues, “ _ thank you _ .”

Baz

It feels like a circuit has closed in my nerves and wave after wave of electricity is coursing through my body.  _ Simon took me flying. _ I was nervous about even suggesting this after-dinner activity, but some rush of courage rose up in me, looking at him glowing and smiling across the table at Darbar. He’s been so open with me tonight, in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. From the outside, anyone else probably wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Our conversation sounds so typical, about friends and work and school. But after months of one-word responses near the end of our relationship, I know how extraordinary this is.

“Thank you for sharing your flying with me,” I say. I feel ridiculously earnest, but I have to say it. I have to let him know that I understand the gift he’s given me. I’m holding eye contact with him even though this level of honest communication is feeling uncomfortable in its newness, probably for both of us. His eyes break away to the side for a moment while he seems to take this in. I feel slightly ill at the thought that I’ve withheld a lot of gratitude from him in the name of appearing steadfast and stoic. It’s at least partially my fault that this is so new and foreign to him.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly as his eyes return to mine. “Baz.” He pushes his fingers through my hair just above my ear and his hand comes to rest at the back of my head. The motion draws him nearer and I look down to his lips. His tongue appears, wetting his chapped lips and I’m pulled in suddenly by the gravitational force of his mouth. Our lips meet, almost clashing, he’s pushing as passionately against my mouth as I am his, his chin almost immediately begins to work up and down. My arms melt around his neck and shoulders until I’m pressed up against him almost as tight as when we were flying. I run my hands down Simon’s back, to that little dip right above his belt, and then I slow down to keep things ‘above the waist,’ as it were, but Simon moans into my mouth and I let my fingertips dip just barely into his trousers skimming the top of his arse.

Simon pushes his hips flush with mine and a fire is lit inside me. I don’t want this to end, I’m already dreading the moment his warmth will leave me, letting the cold rush back in. But he’s here now, his breath huffing every now and again into my mouth ( _ mouth breather _ ) and he’s not pulling away. I place my hands on his hip bones and nudge him back two steps to press him against the car. His fingers tighten in my hair at the nape of my neck, gently pulling as a whine escapes my lips. I want so much more of him. I curse the cold that forced me to wear so many layers, keeping me further from Simon than I want, even as we press into one another.

I release his lips and my mouth travels along his jaw and onto his neck where the pulsing of his blood is just below the surface. He smells delicious and warm and for a brief moment I wonder if this is how Simon feels around scones, but I don’t believe he’s ever gotten an erection from baked goods. He’s letting low growls slip out as I nuzzle into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. 

Then, he surprises me, grabbing my shoulders and twisting me around so it’s my back pressed against the jag. His mouth and tongue find their way back to mine and suddenly his hands are on my arse, then lower to my thighs. His force is explosive and overwhelming and yet, still not enough. He pulls my legs up and around his hips while keeping me pinned in place with his body. I arch my back to push my hips forward, searching for friction and some relief for the tension that is building in my pants. My breathing is jagged and course as Simon moves to nip at my neck just below my ear and then suck my earlobe into his mouth, running his warm velvet tongue over and around it.

I’m trying to stay grounded in the moment and my body and just enjoy this heady, intoxicating ride we’re on. Yet, I’m getting more in my head about the fact that we have never been so physically intimate as this before. My fifth year fantasies are becoming a reality in my arms but instead of leaning into it, I feel my body responding to my thoughts instead of Simon’s touches. My motions become more hesitant, my responses cooler and less passion-filled. Simon must notice the change and his sultry kisses turn to light pecks along my jaw and then he leans back to look at me.

Simon

The wildfire that was building between us is cooling back down. When I pull back to look at him, his pupils are blown wide with desire, but his forehead is lined with concern. “What’s the matter?” I ask softly. I know he wants this, but I suspect it’s also confusing him since our physical intimacy before was limited, to say the least.

He takes a deep breath and lets his feet down one at a time, allowing me to release my weight holding him to the car. I shift back to create some space between us but I don’t step back. I’m not standing down from this conversation, I’m ready to face it head on. “This,” he starts haltingly, “is  _ wonderful _ .” He smiles, small and sweet. I smile back at him perhaps a touch more provocatively than he does.

“But -,” he continues, and my smile falters. He revises his word choice, “ _ and _ \- I want to know how you’re feeling about this and what you want.” He pauses before adding quietly, “and what you don’t want.”

I’m looking down into the space between us, gathering the courage I need to respond. The last time we had a conversation like this, well, it wasn’t really a conversation as much as me shutting it all down when we crossed some invisible line from pleasure to panic. A line that moved a lot throughout our time together, and usually not in the direction either of us wanted it to go.

I look back up and nod my agreement. “Can I hold your hand?” I ask, wanting to ground myself through contact with him. He reaches out and threads his long, elegant, and quite cold fingers between mine. I inhale for four counts, pause, and then slowly exhale. I give myself time and space to let the words I want to say form.

“Thank you for asking.” It's awkward and hard to put into words what I’m feeling and what I want, but I know Baz deserves to hear me say it if we’re going to actually do …  _ anything _ . “I want to … ease into … physical stuff with you. I like everything we’ve done so far tonight, though.” He’s fucking blushing. Crowley, let me get through this… “And I want more, eventually,” I pause and consider the emotions coursing through my body. “Well, soon, actually. I think.”

Baz’s eyes are wide and filled with lust. His free hand rises up, he settles it gently on my face and his thumb traces my cheek. I close my eyes and sigh. When I open them, Baz’s eyes are still locked on mine. “Baz, how do you feel about all this?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time and I can’t tell at all what’s going on behind his eyes. “Simon,” he says, finally. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I want you in my life. I want you to be happy. I want to be part of what makes you happy.”

My heart is swelling and I don’t care if he has more to say. I crash back into him, pulling him into a deep kiss. I swipe my tongue into his mouth and tease his tongue into mine. His arms are around me instantly, hands roaming up and down my back, stoking the flames in my chest, and my gut, and, it’s undeniable, my cock.


	4. Chapter 4

Penny

“Simon?”

Simon’s grinning at his phone which apparently prevents his ears from working.

“Simon!” His head jerks up, that silly grin still plastered on his face. I'd be annoyed if he didn't seem so happy. It's been a while since he's smiled so easily. Not since we were at Watford.

“What? Oh, sorry, Penny!” His cheeks flush to a deep pink. “What did you say?”

“Are you eating with us tonight?” Shepard is rifling through take out menus and I know Simon must be starving, he hasn’t eaten since he got here early this afternoon.

Simon is already looking at his phone again, and I lock eyes with Shepard and then roll my eyes. He smiles sweetly at Simon and then back at me. Honestly, he’s so weak for romance. I suppose that worked out alright for me, in the end.

“Simon.” I say again, putting in enormous effort to keep my voice even and my annoyance masked.

“What’re you having?” He asks without looking up.

I sigh. “Does it actually matter?” That gets his attention. He looks up from his phone with a frown on his face. He _will_ eat just about anywhere, but he of course has his favorites. 

“Ok, ok,” I say, laughing at his indigence. “How’s this: if you don’t look at your phone for five minutes, you can choose where we eat?” I'm teasing but also a little worried for how quickly Simon is being consumed by this relationship again.

He narrows his eyes and juts his chin out, never one to back down from a challenge. He glances one more time at the lock screen on his phone and then slides it in his back pocket. He shoulders me as he walks over to join Shepard in looking at the menus.

Simon pulls out the Darbar take out menu from the stack and I smirk internally. Baz and I met up yesterday for our weekly study session and he filled me in on their date, so I know that’s where they had dinner. Simon has been rather quiet on the topic, though. It’s not surprising, really. My Baz quota was pointless once they started dating. Simon stopped talking about much altogether during the later months of their relationship.

Shepard calls our order in and when he rings off, says it’ll be about 30 minutes. I agree to walk the three blocks to pick it up, even though it’s been starkly cold today and the February sun is already long gone.

“Mario Kart tourney?” Shepard asks Simon, who just grins in response and they both rush over to the couch to start up the PS4. I curl up in the oversized armchair with our latest selection for class, _Wuthering Heights_ , until it’s time to walk to the restaurant and try not to worry about Simon getting hurt again.

Simon

Dinner and video games with Penny and Shepard are a useful distraction for the most part, but when my pocket vibrates during an especially intense Mario Kart race, I lose my concentration and go skidding from first place to fifth.

When dinner arrives I sneak a look at my messages.

 **Baz (19:29):** Saw these at the shop and thought of you

He's included a picture of comfy-looking pajama bottoms with little scones printed on them.

It’s so mundane and yet my heart is picking up its pace and my cheeks are heating up. I can't help but make the connection from pajama bottoms to what it would mean to wear them around Baz. All the scenarios that would lead to (and lead from) such a thing. Shep is grinning at me when I look up from my mobile. We settle around the table, fragrant reminders of just two nights ago tucked into little plastic containers. We all share the entrees we’ve ordered, piling our plates with butter chicken and lamb biryani and rice.

“So, Simon. How was your date with Baz on Friday?” Shepard finally asks.

I’m nervous to talk too much about it as I don’t want to get my hopes high just to have them dashed. But I've been distracted thinking about Baz all evening, so I’m not likely to carry on other conversations too well. And I need to practice talking about hard stuff more. Even if it’s good hard stuff. Ugh, I’m glad Penny isn’t in my head to hear that.

“It was good,” I begin. “We went out to eat and then we went flying.”

Penny narrows her eyes at me. “ _Flying?”_

I’m not sure exactly why she’s so intrigued about me flying. She’s always saying I need to go into the country and stretch my wings and all that.

“We went out to the country, Penny, don’t worry,” I reassure her.

“So, you went flying and Baz… watched?” She probes further. She’s always curious about these details. I don’t really understand why.

“Well, for a bit. Then we flew together.”

“ _You flew together,_ ” she repeats.

“Mmhmm,” I blush a bit at the thought of Baz pressed against me while we flew. And again against his car.

“And you had fun?”

“Yep,” I’m back to one word answers but I don’t really want to elaborate.

“I’m glad, Simon,” she finally softens out of interrogation mode. “I’m always saying you should go flying more often.”

“I know, Pen,” I reply, smiling back at her.

Shepard

Simon leaves shortly after dinner, after he helps clean up the few dishes and takeout containers. Penny closes the door after him and turns to me.

“Wow. Simon and Baz, on a date. _Flying_ together.” She sounds incredulous.

“Is that strange for them? To fly together?” I ask.

“I guess it is, yeah. I can count on one hand the number of times Simon flew that weren't directly related to battle,” she explains. “And flying _with Baz_. I don’t know. I didn’t know Simon would accept this part of him enough to let Baz in on it. He deserves to be fully loved and accepted. And Baz really loves all of him.” She sounds wistful and I think she could stand to listen to her own wisdom. Getting past Penny’s tough exterior is an on-going battle.

I move over to join her on the couch. “I know what you mean, mon coeur.” I pull her hand into mine and kiss the pad below her thumb.

Baz

I’m rendered utterly useless after my date with Snow. I can’t stop thinking about him, or our date, or sending him inane text messages beforeI can stop myself. I feel possessed, lacking any control over messaging him. But the rush his responses push through me has me continually wanting another hit.

My notes are much more sparse than usual during my Monday afternoon lecture when my mobile vibrates in my pocket. I slip it out and strategically place it in front of my laptop screen so the professor can't see it. Only Snow could drive me to ignore my scholarly responsibilities. _Oh, well,_ I think. _I’ll get the notes from Bunce later,_ grateful this is the class we share.

 **Simon (2:45pm):** what cha doin?

 **Baz (2:46pm):** I’m in class, which you are thoroughly distracting me from, you nightmare.

 **Simon (2:46pm):** oi, sorry i can text you later if u want

 **Baz (2:46pm):** I’m amenable to this distraction, Snow.

 **Simon (2:47pm):** :))) wut class

 **Baz (2:47pm):** Literature of the Victorian Age

 **Simon (2:47pm):** sounds ilke something youd like what’s it about?

 **Baz (2:48pm):** We’re currently discussing the symbolism of the moors in _Wuthering Heights._

 **Simon (2:48pm):** probably symbolizes somethin depressing huh?

 **Baz (2:48pm):** Yes, something like that.

 **Simon (2:49pm)** when’re classes done?

 **Baz (2:49pm):** 3:25 pm

 **Baz (2:55pm):** Why?

 **Simon (2:57pm):** I thought maybe youd want to hang out tonite?

 **Baz (3:00pm):** What did you have in mind?

 **Simon (3:01pm):** maybe you could come to mine? I’ll make you dinner.

My undead heart is stuttering to life. Dinner at his flat. I try not to let myself deviate into imagining possible after dinner activities. _Though he did say soon_ . Inviting me to his flat has _implications_.

 **Baz (3:03pm):** Ok. What time should I be there?

 **Simon (3:03pm):** 6pm ok?

 **Baz (3:04pm):** Yes. See you then.

I stare into the distance as I wait out the rest of class, which lasts a short eternity.

Simon

I’m rushing to get through dinner prep and have time to shower before Baz arrives. There’s a recipe that’s been needling at me to try: 40 cloves and a chicken. It’s 40 cloves of garlic roasted with a whole chicken, exactly what it says on the tin. It sounds simple, but the garlic softens and you can apparently put it on bread and eat it like a spread. And Baz loves garlic. I wonder if that’s normal for vampires, since they’re supposed to hate it or whatever.

When I get out of the shower, I start on the side dishes. My nerves are starting to mount, but I push down the thoughts beginning to poke through the surface. I’m bouncing from counter to stove to chopping board, pulling together these ingredients that I know well and fall into the flow of preparing dishes I’ve made many times over. I’m pouring the boiled potatoes into a colander when I hear the bell for the main door of the building buzz in my flat.

“Fuck!” The pot slips and I burn my little finger. I try to relieve the burn by sucking on it while I buzz Baz in. Of all moments to get clumsy in the kitchen, of course it’s right when Baz arrives. I was already a right mess: I still haven’t put on my jumper, so I’m just wearing a white undershirt, the meal’s unfinished, and now I’ve gone and burned myself. I go to the sink and turn the tap to cold, letting the water flow over it. 

My heart is pattering away in my throat and I feel the overwhelm building. I squeeze tears back and just focus on the sensation of cool water rolling across my fingers. The burn was actually quite mild and I feel better already, but the cool water is helping lower my heart rate and cool the rest of me down.

I turn off the tap when I hear Baz’s knock at my door. I dry my hands as I walk over to let him in. All my worries and jumbled up thoughts tumble right out of my brain as I open the door and drink in the sight of him in jeans and his smart black coat with big buttons. He looks like he fell out of a fashion magazine.

“Hello, Snow,” he drawls, slow and luxurious to my ears.

“Come in,” I say and Baz steps tentatively into my flat. He’s not been here before, and he’s looking around, taking it in. I’m suddenly self-conscious about the lack of decor on the walls and sparse furniture, the few items I do have are from Ikea. I don’t even have a house plant. I hadn’t even thought until just now that might be nice.

I place his coat over a chair (I don’t have a coat rack) while he removes his shoes. “Dinner’s almost done, and I just need to nip back to my room to change,” I bumble apologetically. Baz smiles and nods.

The oven timer goes off just as I’m returning to the kitchen. “How was class today?” I ask while I mash the potatoes and put the final touches on the other dishes.

“It was okay,” he replies. “I only have two lectures on Mondays.”

“Victorian Literature,” I say, remembering our earlier conversation. Baz smiles wide and warm and I’m melting a bit into the counter where I’m leaning.

“Yes. Victorian Literature and history of the English language to 1800.”

“D’you like them?” I’m plating our meal and wondering if I should have gotten a garnish like Baz has at his house (mansion).

He’s telling me about his classes and I’m not sure I completely follow, but of course he’s lit up and I’m content to nod and smile while he goes on. He tucks into his first bite and it’s an effort not to watch his face intently for his reaction.

“Snow!” He exclaims after his first bite of chicken. “What is this? It’s incredible. You made this?”

I’m grinning so wide it might split my cheeks. “Forty clove chicken,” I say.

“Forty clove chicken? There’s forty cloves of garlic in this?” He’s half laughing, but takes another bite.

“Yep!” I’m chuckling, too. I snatch a slice of baguette from the basket and spread the now very soft roasted garlic on it like butter. “Try this.”

His bloody eyebrow lifts in mock suspicion but he delicately takes it from me and bites into it. His eyes close and I swear he’s holding back a groan of pleasure. He opens his eyes after swallowing. “Heavenly.” I grin wider (didn’t think that was possible) and he’s smiling back at me. I want to bottle this moment so I can return to it and open it up on a bad day. The biggest snob in all of England, who grew up with a personal chef, is complimenting my cooking. I haven’t even taken a bite yet.

“You mean that? You aren’t just saying so to be nice?”

“Snow, truly. It is delicious. I should get the recipe for Vera.” He’s continuing to eat, so I start as well.

When we finish dinner, I tidy up our plates by the sink to handle later. I hadn’t thought this far ahead in our evening and I’m not sure what I have to offer Baz in terms of after dinner entertainment. Or if he can even stay, it’s a school night after all. “D’you have homework or anything or can you stay?”

Baz

“I can stay,” I say softly. I’m trying not to let my hopes for this evening rise too high, but I failed the minute Snow answered the door in a white undershirt that pulled tight across his chest and belly (I’m positive he’s filled out even more deliciously since we broke up). He’s since put on a jumper, but staying focused on anything besides how his body moves beneath his clothes has been a feat of iron will. Now, without the distraction of that delicious meal ( _when did he learn to cook like that?_ ), I’m certain I’ll be useless company the rest of the evening.

We move into the sitting room, where furniture is even more sparse than his kitchen. The only seating is a futon, so we sit down next to each other. I want to pull him to me and tell him how much I’ve missed him. He’s right next to me, but I still feel like he has construction barriers around him like at the end of our relationship. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, if he’s missed me, if he’s thinking of pushing me back onto this thin futon cushion and snogging me senseless (I am). Instead I try to drum up some more small talk and luckily Simon falls into some easy conversation about this app TikTok which I don’t understand, but thoroughly enjoy watching him act out various scenes.

He’s describing this one account with a talking dog, laughing and running out of air trying to describe it. His face is animated and his eyes are a brilliant blue I’ve not seen before and my chest aches thinking of how much I’ve missed this man sitting in front of me. There’s an easiness in him I haven’t seen before, this is Simon Snow without the pressures of the Mage or the expectations of the magickal world on his shoulders. He’s beautiful.

“Baz?” He’s calling to me and it’s clear I’ve missed the last bit of what he said. “Are you alright?”

I smile. “Yes, fine, Simon.”

“Where were you just then?” He asks. I meet his gaze and my eyes bounce between his, trying to read exactly what he’s asking.

“I was just thinking how happy you seemed,” I reply, slowly, metering my words. “Are you? Happy, that is?”

He takes a long time before responding. It feels like the oxygen is depleting from the room. Something important (though I’m not sure exactly what yet) hangs in the balance of his reply.

“Right this very minute or more like, in general?” He inquires.

He’s astute. When he’s not being overtaken by smokey magick or the clouds of depression, he can see right into the heart of things.

“Either.”

He looks to the side, into the distance. “Some days I am happy. But there’s still a lot of days that are hard. I can get through the hard days easier now. I’ve found a few things that I get joy from.”

I’m soaking up every piece of information he’s willing to share. “Like?” I prompt.

“Oh, like… cooking and spending time with the animals at the clinic.” I smile thinking of Simon flitting between chopping ingredients and tending to the pots and pans; of Simon patching up puppies and kittens and goats. I love every version of him and the thought of having a couple more iterations of joyful, smiling Simon is making my chest swell and ache. _I want to be on that list,_ I think.

He interrupts my thoughts, “And you? Are you … happy?” He seems afraid of the question. Or maybe it’s my answer that has him hesitating.

I want to give him a piece of myself in return for this precious gift he’s given me, but the question is leaving me without words.

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that,” I respond truthfully. His face scrunches up in concern and something else I can’t place. Guilt or shame, I think. “I don’t think of my life in terms of happy or unhappy.”

His brow furrows together even more. “What terms do you think of it in?” He’s genuinely curious, engaged in conversation with me in ways I haven’t seen since three Christmases ago. I should be elated but I just don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to lose what feels like a tenuous hold on his attention. I think through what I could say here, including a couple options to veer this conversation into lighter fare. Instead I have no choice but to take an utterly Simon Snow approach, face it head on and be true to my heart.

“Well,” I start carefully. “I mostly think of my life as a checklist.”

“A checklist? What of?”

I inhale. “Of expectations,” I exhale. “And whether or not I’m meeting them.”

“What expectations?” He asks, baffled.

“School, future careers, family obligations,” I list a few that weigh on me daily.

“I thought you liked school? You stayed back at Watford for the final term.” He leaves unsaid that I stayed when he _didn’t_. That I wasn’t there for him for 5 months after the humdrum. That’s one of the checkboxes I’ll never share with him - how I let him down by choosing school over him.

“I do. I love literature, but…” His eyes meet mine, urging me on. “My family expects something different to come from the end of university.”

“What’re you going to do? Change your major?”

“I’ll more likely do my graduate studies in something useful.”

“Useful?!” Simon is indignant and fiery. It’s stirring something in me. “Literature _is_ proper useful!”

I’m smiling at the scowl darkening his face. He’s so handsome. My fate doesn't disturb me like it does Snow, I've known and long ago accepted it. “I have a responsibility as the eldest Grimm and Pitch heir…”

“Fuck that, Baz,” he interjects, startling me out of the elevator speech I've played in my head for near a decade.

“Sorry?” It’s the only word I can manage at the moment.

“Fuck that. What do you _want_ to do?”

I fall just a little bit more in love with him. And even though I’m infatuated with his interest, I still need to summon an immense amount of courage to respond.

“If I had absolutely no obligations to my family?” He nods. “I think I’d write.” I can’t help a small smile when saying that outloud.

Snow smiles, too, eyes glinting. “What would you write?”

“I’ve never thought about this hypothetical - and _totally unrealistic,_ by the way - future career long enough to answer that.”

He’s looking at me earnestly. “It’s not unrealistic, Baz. If you’re half as good at writing words as you are at speaking them, you’re going to be a brill writer.”

I’m not used to this level of praise, and certainly not from someone who has so masterfully stolen my heart. He seems so certain: _you’re going to be a brill writer._ As if it’s a given. As if it’s foretold and he’s a prophet. I feel tears stinging the lower lids of my eyes and tip my head back to try to keep them contained. Simon notices because _of course he fucking notices_ and reaches out to take my hand.

“Baz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Even though he’s the one who has gone through actual hardship, here he is: comforting me. He’s so _good._

Simon

I’m silently kicking myself. _How did I possibly make Baz cry on our_ second _date?_ Even though I reached out to take his hand, I feel an urge to pull away. My leg starts to bounce with the desire to run, though I’m not sure where I’d run _to_ as this is my flat.

“I’m not upset,” Baz rushes to correct me. “I’m -”

He cuts himself off, trying to collect himself. He continues, “I’m fine. This is fine. How can I be upset living this charmed life? I’m the Pitch heir. Most of the World of Mages would kill to be in my position.

I can hear him put emphasis on all the right words to sound sure and confident, but his voice is wavering. “It’s okay to not want what everyone else wants, Baz. You deserve to be happy,” I say, because it’s true, even if I’m still working on believing it, too.

A tear slides down his cheek and the guilt weaves into the edges of my brain. I don’t want to make Baz cry. _Do something,_ my thoughts goad me, _fix this._ But I’m frozen as I watch another tear drop.

Baz slips his hand from mine. _Fuck._ “I’m just going to use the toilet, excuse me.” His poshness takes over and I already miss the Baz I had access to just a moment ago.

When he comes back, he’s composed himself. There’s no evidence he was crying on my sofa a few minutes ago. He says something about schoolwork, and needing to get up for class tomorrow, so I walk him to the door.

As much as it hurt to see him upset, this stoic, cold manner is worse.

He slips his shoes and coat on to brave the frigid air. I step forward, wanting to wrap him in my arms, but instead say, “Baz, I really am sorry-”

He holds up his hand, interrupting my apology. “Enough, Snow. Really, I’m fine.” And steps into the night.

Baz

I’m not fine.


	5. Chapter 5

Simon

I’ve been debating with myself all night whether I should try to text Baz. I don’t know what I’d say though. I’ve already apologized and he keeps insisting he’s fine. (He’s not. The stubborn git.) I decide it’s best to give him space, which is essentially what he’s asking for even if he’s not actually saying anything.

I get to work and change into my scrubs, and login to the front desk computer. Dr. Patel gets in a little later than I do in the mornings because I do all the routine opening tasks. I’m lost in my thoughts about last night with Baz when I’m startled by noisy shuffling coming through the door to the clinic. A young woman is struggling with a cardboard box that’s shifting in her arms.

I rush over to help her carry it in, setting the squeaking, moving box down gently.

“Hullo! Do you have an appointment?” I ask my scripted line.

“Oh, uh, no,” she stammers. “I was on my way to work when I saw this box off the side of the road. I don’t even know why I stopped, but something about it just seemed odd.”

I lift a flap to reveal four squirming puppies, clearly only days, maybe a week old at most. My heart clenches. Who would abandon these sweet beans? (They really do look like little beans, a pinto bean, two kidney beans, and a black-eyed pea.)

“I’m glad you did, you brought them to the right place. I just need you to sign an affidavit that you found them abandoned and you’re signing their care over to us. We’ll put out a bulletin, but it seems likely they’ll go unclaimed.” Her face twists in concern. I continue, “But don’t worry, we’ll find them good homes.”

It’s a speech I’ve given a few times, but never for puppies. Most people abandon dogs once they’re older, either after they outgrow a home when they’re no longer puppies, or as they age and get more health conditions and are harder and more expensive to care for. But it doesn’t matter the reason, really. It breaks my heart every time.

We finish up the paperwork and she heads off quickly, eager not to be any more late to work than she already is, I suppose. Dr. Patel arrives soon after and I rush to finish the opening routine while I fill her in on this morning’s events so far.

She gathers the box of now sleeping puppies and brings them to the back. “Simon, meet me in exam room 1 when you’ve finished up here.”

I open the appointment scheduling application to check today’s appointments. We’ve got just a half hour before the first client. I wash my hands and join Dr. Patel in the exam room.

She’s busy taking their temperatures and listening to tiny heart beats. I watch her quietly. She’s focused and deep in thought and I know she’ll let me know when she’s ready for me to jump in.

“Can I get four syringes to take blood samples, please, Simon?” She asks, always polite and even-toned even when she’s worried. I like that about her, it really calms me when I could easily be spiraling about the fate of the beans.

I grab labels while she draws blood and fill each out according to their coloring and markings. She chuckles at my bean descriptions for each puppy, but it must be pretty accurate because she knows exactly which is which.

She’s wrapping up their initial exam, and I go back to the front desk so I can greet our first clients of the day. They arrive shortly, a mum and daughter with their grey cat for a regular check up. I get them settled in another exam room and go find Dr. Patel to let her know. She’s still in the first exam room, wrapping puppies in little blankets.

“Oh, good, Simon,” she says. “We need to begin feeding the puppies each a half ounce of formula every hour. There’s formula and bottles in the back, follow the instructions to prepare it, and place them in the heated kennel when you aren’t holding them for feedings.”

My heart is pounding, but I’m not sure why. Dr. Patel seems to notice right away, though. “You can ask me if you have any questions between patients.” She smiles and squeezes my forearm.

After the mom, daughter, and their cat are settled and I’ve tidied up exam room one, I bring the box of puppies to the back, transferring them to the heated kennel full of shredded paper. I pull out the formula and a bottle. I turn the formula tub to the back and try to read the instructions. My head is feeling scattered, fragmented. I feel like it’s really important to get this right but I usually am just doing what someone else says. What if I read it wrong? What if I mess up the formula and hurt the puppies? My heart pounds even more loudly in my ears.

I fumble with my locker and locate my mobile. I unlock it and press Penny’s image, dialing her number and hoping she isn’t in class.

“Simon?” She answers on the first ring. “Everything ok?” We rarely ring each other. We text or I’m over at her flat.

“Penny,” I start, trying to sound less desperate than I feel. “These puppies got dropped off today and I think they’re ok, I mean, we don’t really know since we haven’t gotten the blood test results, but like, they’re moving and stuff, making little noises, so that must be good, yeah? And -”

“ _Simon_ ,” Penny cuts in. “Take a breath. I’m sure they’re ok, they’re in good hands. Are _you_ ok?”

“Me? Yeah, of course, Pen. I’m fine.”

“Did you need something specific or just want to tell me this?”

“Oh right, so, the puppies need formula and I’m reading the instructions and, well, it’s a lot of maths, and I’m worried I’m going to mess it up.”

“Ok, read it to me, Simon.” I knew Penny would know what to do. I read the instructions and wait while she does the figures. Then she walks me through the measuring and mixing. Merlin, she really would be a better vet assistant than me.

“Simon, are you sure you’re alright?” She sounds concerned, but of course _I’m_ fine, I’m not the one who was abandoned in a box on the roadside. I reassure her a couple more times before she lets me ring off.

The puppies are still sleeping soundly where I placed them. Puppies sleep a lot in their first weeks. Dr. Patel says it has to do with their development or whatever. I have to wake each one to take the bottle, but they all do, it’s their instinct. They’re each so tiny, I rest them on my chest near my neck where my skin is exposed and they can get the most of my body heat. They squirm and snuggle into me, my heart rate slows and beats only for them.

Baz

I’m in a terrible mood but I don’t want to face the reason why. Without my consent, last night’s events play in my mind. I see each time I push Snow away. I see every hurt look, every disappointment. Isn’t it bad enough that I’m a constant disappointment to myself, do I have to also disappoint the love of my life?

I glance at my phone and think about texting him. I slide it into my pocket and vow to forget it for the rest of the day. I put my fingers on the keyboard of my laptop, resolute to take notes, but my fingers don’t move. The professor drones on but her voice seems far off.

When class ends, I move through the halls like I’m pushing through thick water. His question needles at me, _what do_ you _want to do?_ but it’s his clear, honest eyes which haunt me more. He looked at me like I could do anything and all he wanted was for me to do what _I_ wanted. My heart races at the idea of bucking all tradition to hole up in some cottage, writing my days away.

I imagine telling my father, _I’m giving up on grad school to go live in the woods with the former chosen one, father, you know, the one who destroyed the magic at our family manor? I’m going to write and he’s going to raise sheep and goats and such._ I practically roll my eyes at my own frivolity but I catch myself when I remember I’m still in public.

I’m relieved classes are over for the day and when I get back to my flat, I curl up on my bed still clothed and fall asleep.

\------------------------

A knock at my door pulls from a dreamless sleep. My room is darkened by the dusk that comes so early this time of year.

“Come in,” I mumble, half into my pillow.

Fiona pushes the door open with a cup of tea in one hand. “Alright, boyyo?”

I grunt as I push myself up to a seat.

“Are you ill?” She asks. There’s a hint of concern beneath her surliness.

“No,” I say curtly.

“Does this have to do with Snow?” She sneers as she spits out his name. She hasn’t quite gotten over him breaking up with me.

“ _No,_ ” I emphasize. _Well, maybe a little._ But I want us to work out. I don’t want my family to hate him. Especially Fiona who is the only one who openly embraces my queerness.

She tries to punch me playfully, but of course hits too hard. “It’s your night for dinner, then, get going.”

I groan. I knew her niceties were too good to be genuine. I gulp down my tea after she leaves to wake myself up and then haul my disheveled self out of bed.

Simon

I stare at my plate of chicken and potatoes from last night. My mind is storming with thoughts and emotions. I’m not made to live alone. All of this time with myself and my thoughts is, well, it’s too much. I bounce between thinking of the puppies at work, Baz, and everything that happened last night. 

The puppies will be alone overnight and even though they’re all doing fine (they’re eating, and their labs came back mostly normal), I worry that no one will be there if they need attention or get hungry in the night. I know I’d hate it if I couldn’t have a midnight snack after waking up hungry.

Without warning, my thoughts move on to the next distressing thought as I tuck back into my meal of leftovers. Just last night I was sharing this meal, this table, this flat with Baz. How did it all go so wrong? I want to fix it but I don’t even know what _it_ is. All I know is Valentine's day and Baz’s birthday are just around the corner and I’m aching to spend them together. Maybe even as his boyfriend. My heart stutters at the thought.

I pull out my phone to distract myself with a game or something, but open my messages instead. I scroll back two weeks to the start of Baz and my thread of texts. They start stiff and formal, so uncertain in those first messages. I smile reading through the silly banter and blush when he (tries) to say something flirtatious. My heart leaps and races and thumps steadily in between.

I type out _hey_ but my thumb hovers over the send button. I don’t think I’m ready for what might come after. If this is all crashing down around me (again), I’d rather have the uncertainty a little bit longer. _Delete, delete, delete._ I tidy up my dishes and end up turning in early to bed.

Penny

I wake up to a cramped neck and Shepherd shaking my shoulder and pushing my phone at me. I dozed off with my head in his lap while he watched some inane paranormal mysteries show Normals all seem to like. I don’t know why he still watches them, he knows about all the real magical creatures now.

“Mmmm…” I moan in resistance to being woken.

“Pen, it’s Simon. He doesn’t normally call so late.” A second call from Simon in one day. I was wondering when the abandoned puppy thing was going to hit him. Shepard pushes the green icon while I sit up and find my bearings. “Hi, Simon, it’s Shepherd. Penny’s right here.”

“Si? What’s wrong?” I croak out, sleep still in my voice, but adrenaline already putting my brain cells on high alert.

“I- I don’t know. It’s stupid, really,” he deflects.

I clear my throat. “It’s almost midnight on a Tuesday night, something is obviously going on.” I pause, then soften my voice. “Talk to me, Simon. What is it?”

He finally says, “Those puppies, Pen, they’re all alone at the clinic. What if they’re hungry? Or worse? What if we didn’t catch something in their lab work and they need us?”

“You’re worried,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“And you want to go check on them.”

“Yeah,” he softer this time.

“You need your wings spelled in.”

“Please, Penny? Just tonight, I promise, I won’t bug you again.”

“Si, you’re fine, of course I’ll do it. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just next time, decide before 10pm, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pen, of course! Love you!”

“Love-” _Click._


	6. Chapter 6

Simon

Cool linoleum presses to my cheek and I can feel a thin line of drool dried in the corner of my mouth. The lights fill the space with harsh fluorescent flickers. The events of last night come back to me: waking up in a cold sweat, calling Penny to spell in my wings, finding the puppies sleeping soundly in their heated kennel. I laid down to watch them for a bit and must have fallen asleep.

I can hear shuffling from the front of the clinic, Dr. Patel must be here. I scramble to my feet, smoothing my pyjamas. _My pyjamas. Fuck._ Dr. Patel is going to know I was here overnight. Oh, well, no hiding it now.

“Simon? I came early to give the litter their first feeding of the day. What are you doing here?” She asks, concerned but no anger in her voice, as she takes in the sight. She doesn’t comment on my attire.

“Erm, well, I was pretty worried about them overnight and when I came to check on them, I must have, um, fallen asleep?” I feel my cheeks heat up.

She smiles kindly. “How did they do on their first night?”

I look at her sheepishly, since none of my disastrous scenarios came to be, “Well, they just slept the whole time.”

“That's great news. They can only sleep well if they're being fed enough.” A knot in my stomach loosens. As she sheds her puffy jacket and replaces it with her white vet coat she says, “Why don’t you go home to freshen up and I’ll do the opening tasks today?”

“Thank you, Dr. Patel, I promise I’ll be back in an hour!” I check my phone as I rush out the door. Five notifications. None are from Baz. I feel my heart dip but I try to pull it back up, to fortify myself against the disappointment. I have plenty to occupy my mind with between worrying about the puppies and trying to figure out how I’m going to coordinate with Penny to get my wings respelled - there’s no way this one will last until my shift is over - but Baz’s absence just when we were falling into a rhythm tugs at my attention. I consider texting him, but, again, decide not to. I need to hustle to get back to work, Dr. Patel has already been so patient with me.

After the speediest of showers, I hear the buzzer from the main door going almost non-stop. I race to let Penny in, we’re both running tight on time, her first lesson is early on Wednesdays.

She blusters in, a swirling rush of brown and purple (she still wears Watford colors, like a security blanket she’s not quite done with yet.) Without greeting, she spells my wings in, then spins me around to look me in the eye. Even though she’s looking up at me (she’s quite a bit shorter than me), her stern gaze makes me feel two feet tall.

She gets right to the point, “Everything alright?” Anyone observing this interaction who didn’t know Penny would think she was right mad at me, but I know she’s worried. I’ve come to realize Penny sees things about me that take me a while to see, so there’s no real point in trying to hide anything. It’s faster and less painful if I just tell her what I’m thinking, even if I haven’t made sense of it yet.

“Well,” I start, figuring out the words as I go. “You know, Baz came over the other night for dinner, yeah? And I think I upset him, talking about his major and what he wants to do. Anyway, he left kind of quickly. It seemed like things were going so well up til then, but he just turned off, got cold, and left. He hasn’t contacted me since.”

“That sounds like Basil, being a git and getting in his own way,” Penny mutters more to herself than to me. “I’m sure he’ll come around, Simon. It’s a sensitive topic, you know, with all the pressure from being a Pitch and all that.”

I nod, my throat is thick with the want to track Baz down and smother him with hugs. Penny seems to know, because Penny _always_ knows, and wraps me in a hug instead. “Give him a couple days and if you still haven’t heard from him, check in, yeah?” She says into my shoulder. 

I nod again, and say, “You’ll be late.” She squeezes tight and then releases me, saying goodbye over her shoulder as she rushes off to class. With Baz. The jealousy flares up for a moment, but then I’m off, too, stopping to grab Dr. Patel’s favorite latte as a thank you for understanding this morning’s situation.

Baz

I’m sitting in class, appearing to calmly and attentively take notes, while inside my head I’m pacing to and fro, repeating the conversation we had at Snow’s the other night and berating myself for every word I said that hurt him. I glance at my phone: no messages, no notifications since the last time I checked. Two minutes ago.

I push my tongue against the sharp points of my teeth, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to sharpen my senses and keep myself from spiraling into an embarrassing show of emotion. I see Bunce glance at me from her usual spot next to me. I redouble my efforts to keep my attention on the professor’s lecture.

Before I even realize, class is over. The other students are gathering their things and shuffling out the door. I shut my computer and stand to leave, coming face-to-face with Bunce.

“Hey, Basil,” she says, casually, and I immediately know she knows. Bunce is never casual.

“Bunce,” I reply, shortly.

“How’re things?”

“Fine.” She falls into step beside me, easily keeping up with me even though my strides are much longer than hers.

“Hmm,” she hums in all-knowing smugness. She’s sticking with me all the way to my car even though I’m certain she didn’t park near me.

I turn towards her when we reach my car. “It’s fine, nothing happened. I’m fine.”

“Nothing happened or it’s fine?” She retorts quickly. I give her the most insufferable look I can muster without actually sneering at her and I must succeed because she deflates a little, backing down from the possible verbal sparring. “Look, just talk to him. You know this isn’t about him. Let him in. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

She lifts onto her tiptoes and gives me a peck on the cheek (this isn’t because Bunce has some saccharine sweet inside her tough exterior, it’s because she knows I’ll bristle at being seen as anything but cool and aloof in public. She’s wicked like that.)

“Bye, Baz,” she uses the name Simon uses for me, furthering her evil plan to make me cave and talk to him.

I pull out my phone after starting the engine to get my car warming up. I start typing and then read what I’ve written: Hi, Simon. I’ve been thinking about the other night and I’d really like to talk to you. Are you free tonight?

It feels vulnerable and much too risky.

I hit send anyway.

Simon

My knee is bouncing like mad as I force myself to concentrate on the closing tasks while the last clients are being seen by Dr. Patel. Normally closing up the clinic is pretty chill, but Dr. Patel said the puppies can come home with me tonight, so there’s a lot of supply gathering that I’ll need to do once this last family leaves. Dr. Patel even said if it works out, they can spend nights at my flat regularly.

The door swings open and there’s Penny, ready to help me transport everything home and get things set up. After the last family _finally_ leaves, I lock the entrance and we scramble to gather blankets, formula, bottles, pee pads, everything we can think of to make the flat puppy-friendly. I sit in back with the beans as Penny drives us to the flat.

Setting everything up takes quite some time and when we’re done, even Penny’s stomach is grumbling (no one is surprised when my stomach growls.) We order takeout and collapse on the couch, watching the puppies tumble over each other with a sudden burst of energy from all the excitement of a car ride and new environment.

When I look over at Penny, she’s got this wide, silly grin on her face. “What’s that look for?” I ask, wondering what she’s thinking.

“You’re a really great dog dad, Simon.” She beams at me but the word ‘dad’ pricks at the back of my mind.

“They’re not my pups, you know, Pen,” I reply. “There’s no way I could keep four fullgrown dogs in this flat.”

“I know. But for now, you’re what they’ve got. They’re really lucky.” I feel sadness pooling in my chest but before it even registers with my brain, the buzzer from the main entrance goes off.

“Hey, mate, we’re flat 215,” I say into the speaker to the delivery person and buzz them up. A minute later, I hear them knock tentatively at the door. I swing open the door, but instead of a teenaged delivery boy, it’s Baz standing there, looking repentant (and more delicious than the curry we’ve ordered.)

Baz

“Baz!” Simon exclaims and I can see Penny’s head swivel out of the corner of my eye. “What’re you doing here?”

I knew Simon wasn’t expecting me, but when he buzzed me up, I made the decision in a flash to take the access inside his building while I had it instead of buzzing him again to try to explain. I panicked during the minute or so climbing the stairs that he might be avoiding me, or that he might slam the door in my face. But just like the unanswered text from earlier and the decision to drive to his flat, some strange, newly tapped impulsion kept me moving forward, almost without my willing it so.

And now Simon is looking at me, open and curious and expectant, without a hint of malice or regret, waiting for me to answer him.

“I texted you,” I finally say, as if that was explanation enough for me standing at his door. He looks around, presumably for his phone, and gestures for me to come in while he digs first in his trouser pockets, then in the coat hanging by the door.

I’m starting to feel like a complete git when Penny steps in from the front room, sliding her arms into her coat.

“Hi, Basil,” she says evenly, though I know so much more is streaming through that quick brain of hers. “Simon, I’m going to go.”

He looks at her quizzically, briefly, but then seems to understand something in that way it feels like only they can communicate. He squeezes her tightly and they say good night. And then it’s just us, standing awkwardly by the door.

“We can sit?” Simon says it like a question. “If you want.”

“Yes, thank you.” Tiny squeaks and rustling are getting louder as we make our way to the sofa. I’m not expecting the scene that unfolds in Simon’s front room. “What-?”

Simon responds before I can form a complete thought, “Oh! The puppies, they’re from the clinic. I, erm, well, that is… Dr. Patel said…”

I’m not sure what he’s having so much difficulty conveying. I feel my eyebrow arch (no wonder Simon thought I was constantly antagonizing him at Watford) and I resist the urge to offer up options to complete his thought.

“They were abandoned,” he finally says. “And they need to be bottle fed every hour, and I spent last night at the clinic, and -”

“You what?” I cut him off.

“Well,” he’s turning red and blustering and I wish I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I am. “It was their first night and I was worried, so Penny spelled my wings in so I could check on them. And then. Well, I fell asleep.”

The image of Simon falling asleep while checking on an abandoned litter of puppies is so wholesome I’m finding it hard to believe we aren’t trapped in some children’s storybook.

“Anyway,” he blunders on. “You said you texted? Is everything alright?” I feel uncomfortable with his concern and attention suddenly spotlighted on me. Afterall, nothing is wrong whatsoever. I sent an impulsive text and then, propelled by anxiety, rushed over to his flat when he didn’t respond immediately. I’m starting to wonder how I’m going to talk myself out of this one.

“It’s fine, I texted, you didn’t respond, but you were attending to important things,” I gesture to the wiggling blobs of white, black, and brown fluff in a little fenced-in area on the floor. “I should go.” I start to stand, but Simon stops me with a warm hand on my knee.

“You are important things,” he says. “Well, you’re a person not a thing, but…”

He trails off as I search his face for evidence that he’s bluffing or at least stretching the truth, but he’s nothing but earnest, so I sit back.

“I don’t like how I left things the other night,” I say quietly. It’s hard to keep eye contact while I attempt this new venture of open and honest communication. Simon’s hand is still on my knee and it feels so warm and welcoming, like home wrapped up in a single touch. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he says immediately. “I know there’s no way I can understand the pressure you’re under. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

He sits forward, and I do, too, drawn in by his goodness. He continues, “I want you to be happy. I want you to know how much you deserve happiness.”

I feel warmth and salt prick the corners of my eyes. “Simon--” it comes out breathy and barely there. I watch his eyes drop to my mouth then pull back up to mine. I swallow, feeling the resistance in my throat of what I want to say but what I’m not certain I can. “ _You_ make me happy.”

He grins, open and joyful, and my heart leaps. My hand slides around the back of his neck and I pull him to me, kissing more his teeth than lips until he’s kissing me back, strong and sweet and all Simon. He’s more _Simon_ than he’s been since that night in the woods when I nearly burned myself down with the trees. I let him consume me, relieved to see the confident, loving person he is, return.

His hands move up my chest as he pushes me back and climbs onto my lap, a knee straddling me on each side. His mouth opens and then his tongue is drawing mine out, sliding then licking, never still but never the same motion twice. He’s pushing tighter against me, closing every possible space between us, and when I feel my trousers tighten, I know he can feel it, too.

I’m debating how to cool this down so I can get my wits about me when Simon pushes down on my lap, pleasure surging through me. I lose coordination of my mouth but Simon doesn’t seem to mind as he continues his assault on my tongue and lips. I’m about to brush off his movement as an inadvertent, heat-of-the-moment thing, when he grinds down and forward, his unmistakable erection pressing against my stomach.

My hands fall to his waist, then hips, offering gentle direction and encouragement to increase the friction. His fingers rake into my hair and then grip near the base where he grips softly, while his hips fall into a rhythm against mine. I want him, and even though he’s right here giving me so much, my desire for more has never been greater.

I let myself get lost in this fantasy come reality until our history demands that we stop before we get swept away by the waves of pleasure and end up regretting it. I move my hands away from his hips and slow our kissing until I can gently pull away to look at him. The blue of his eyes is dark with lust, eyelids heavy, and it takes all of the vampire strength in my body to not flip him onto the couch and let this makeout session go wherever it was about to go. 

Simon

I hear myself whimper as Baz pulls away, my body urging me forward but I force myself to stay still.

“Snow,” he says, feigning sternness (I can hear the waver in his voice, betraying him.) “We should stop.”

“Why?” It’s almost a whine, I know he’s wanted this for so much longer than me, why can’t we just skip forward to the good stuff?

“You know why,” he guides me off his lap and back into my own seat on the couch. “We said we would talk it through before moving forward… physically.”

I feel the heat of a blush race across my skin. I’ve taken the time to be… intimate… with myself, to understand what I like and don’t like, and not only get used to but genuinely enjoy physical touch of all kinds. I know I’m ready for this (ok, I know I’m at least ready to try) but I’m more uncertain if I’m ready to talk about what happened between me and Baz _with Baz_.

His eyes are trained on me, probably interpreting every grimace and scowl better than I can understand myself. I feel the emotional toll of the day suddenly blanket me like wet, heavy snow. The bed I haven’t slept in for a day suddenly seems like a siren’s song. 

Baz must see me deflate, because he says, “It doesn’t have to be today.” Damn mind reader.

I glance over at the puppies, curled up in a mass of fur and tails and ears. “Ok. Yes. We should talk about it. I really do need to feed the beans, though.”

“Beans?” His head tips to the side with curiosity and the urge to smother him with kisses rises back up.

“That’s what I call them. Don’t they look like little beans?”

He chuckles, unguarded and utterly lovely, “Yes, I suppose they do. What are their names?”

He follows me into the kitchen to lean on the counter while I prepare formula. “Oh, Merlin, I haven’t even thought about names!”

I prepare a couple bottles while Baz asks about the puppies. Even though I’ve memorized the amounts for each bottle, I have to double, then triple check my math because I’m distracted by the casual cross of Baz’s legs at the ankle. (How does he make _leaning_ look good?)

As I settle onto the floor by the little pen we set up, Baz perches gingerly on the edge of the couch.

“C’mon, come down here,” I wave him over. He lowers himself to a seat with a look on his face like I’ve just asked him to join me in a dumpster. I try to refrain from rolling my eyes. I push a bottle at him. “Here, this will be much faster with two of us.”

I scoop up the golden-brown pup, half-asleep and struggling to keep his eyes open, and plop him in Baz’s lap. Baz stares down at him, bottle suspended mid-air.

Pulling another puppy into my lap, I nudge the nipple near her mouth and she takes it right away, hungrily drinking. Baz watches then mirrors me. I can’t pull my gaze away from him. It’s impossible not to swoon when the love of your life is bottle feeding a week-old puppy on the floor of your flat.

My heart flutters when he looks up at me, smiling. _We can do this,_ I think. _We can make this work and figure out the talking thing and the not talking things. We can do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking through this super-long-to-update fic! I'm back in the flow and really hope that continues until I've finished it! You can find me on tumblr a bit @anika-222 and instagram more @anika222.reads. Come say hi!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan included this fic, that takes place Jan-Feb but was originally posted in July, to be completed well before February, so I apologize for a Valentine's Day scene a week after Valentine's Day. We're going to have the same issue with Baz's birthday. Hopefully it is still enjoyable despite this!

Penny

“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” Shep calls to me from the kitchen.

I shed my outerwear and shuffle over to a kitchen chair, collapsing into it.

“Rough day?” He asks while tending to the pot and pan on the stove.

“Baz showed up at Simon’s flat,” I say.

“Oh?” He’s interested, but he doesn’t have the decade-long history of these two that I do to know this is shorthand for how unprecedented this emotional and impulsive display from Baz is.

“They’ve not been… communicating well lately,” I explain. “So I figured it’d be best to give them some space.”

“Did you eat?” He asks, completely off topic. I suppose I am hungry. I left before the curry arrived. I shake my head and Shepherd immediately reaches for a second plate. He sweeps over with two plates of pasta with what can only be homemade pasta sauce. Shep has a way with vegetables that could get a two-year-old to love brussels sprouts. Even though he’s had to settle for shop veg instead of fresh-from-the-garden veg, he’s started an entire herb garden in our flat and I can smell the fresh basil and oregano wafting off his creation.

“How is Simon?” He asks.

“Good. Even with Baz going incommunicado, he was managing ok. And the litter of puppies is really good for him, I think. He needs a focus and to be helping. He's still figuring out how to help since he stopped fighting maybes.” I hum happily as I take my first bite.

We fall into our regular rhythm, talking about our days and our plans for the evening when Shep gets quiet and thoughtful.

“Penny,” he starts, his voice serious. “How are you doing with all this Simon and Baz stuff?”

“Oh,” I wave my fork dismissively. “I’m fine, this is between them.”

“You were the shoulder they both cried on during their break up.”

I shrug. “Of course, that’s what friends do.”

“You can always talk to me, you know.”

I look down at my plate, not knowing how to respond. I know his offer is genuine, it’s what makes it so uncomfortable. Quietly I say, “Okay.”

Baz

I’m sitting at the desk in my room, daydreaming about the other night at Simon’s flat, letting various scenarios run through my mind that might have played out if we hadn’t stopped things. My phone vibrates, pulling me out of a particularly nice scene where we don’t quite make it to the bed, but we do eventually end up in the shower.

I glance at my textbook, then the time. I’ve spent at least twenty minutes open to this page without any progress. I always knew Simon would be my downfall, but I didn’t expect it to be academically.

I see the notification from Simon and I smile down at my phone. He’s sent a picture with one of the pups (he sends lots of puppy pictures, but my favorite ones are his selfies with them).

 **Baz (9:21pm):** You two make quite the dashing couple.

 **Simon (9:21pm):** Is that a compliment, Baz?! 😏 😈

 **Baz (9:22pm):** 😕 I think the puppy is carrying the team in the looks category.

 **Simon (9:22pm):** You sure do know how to woo a guy 🙄

 **Baz (9:23pm):** I didn’t know I was supposed to be wooing.

 **Simon (9:24):** 😬

 **Baz (9:25):** If you want to be wooed, just say the word.

 **Simon (9:30):** ….

 **Simon (9:30):** (the word)

My heart beats double time in my chest. I’ve held myself back from going all-in with Simon, partly because our relationship was so strained, even from the beginning, I didn’t want to spook him. But I also didn’t want to get my heart broken. It did anyway. I survived, but just barely. I don’t think I could take getting over Simon twice. (Did I even get over him the first time?)

As much as I don’t want to scare Simon away, a part of me yearns to woo him. To take him to expensive restaurants for decadent dishes and desserts, sweep him off to Paris for a weekend, give him mushy declarations of love. They’re the dreams and desires I buried in fifth year and haven't allowed to resurface, except for one night on the floor of my bedroom in front of the fireplace, years ago.

But now he’s basically asking me for it. I take a deep breath and dive in.

 **Baz (9:37):** What are you doing Tuesday night?

 **Simon (9:38):** Tuesday? That’s a weird day to start wooing someone. 😉 

**Simon (9:38):** I’m free after work though.

 **Baz (9:40):** Tuesday is the 14th.

 **Simon (9:40):** ok….?

 **Baz (9:41):** Valentine’s Day?

 **Simon (9:42):** Oi. Right. 😳

 **Baz (9:43):** I’ll pick you up at 7:30pm.

Simon

It hasn’t even been a week since I last saw Baz, but the anticipation of our next date has made time move slower than usual. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since the kiss in Baz’s car and I wake up before the sun thinking about our date tonight. Thinking that today is Valentine’s Day and Baz said he wants to woo me and I don’t know _how_ I can make it through the day with that knowledge.

Baz

I inhale the cold sharp air and watch the puffs float up and dissipate as I exhale and push the bell to Snow’s building. I’m grateful I had class today to make the time pass, but it was another day wasted academically as Snow was the only thing my brain could make space for.

It’s less than a minute until Snow buzzes me up and I’m knocking on his door. He grins at me as he pulls the door wide, and as much as I try to keep my eyes on his, they drag over his body, drinking in the sight of him in a fitted long-sleeved t-shirt, dark jeans, and clean (maybe even new?) camel-colored trainers.

When I planned tonight’s activities, I had a strong urge to go over the top at the most posh restaurant I could get a reservation at, but I knew Snow wouldn’t be comfortable and even more so because he wouldn’t have the right attire. So, when he’d asked and I’d said casual dress was fine, I expected the usual scuffed shoes and stained trousers. _This_ I did not expect. I imagine Bunce and Shepard had a hand in the sight before me. I should send them a nice fruit basket tomorrow.

By the time my eyes make it back to Snow’s face, he’s blushing but also swiping his tongue along his lower lip and I know he likes what he sees, too. I produce a bouquet of flowers and push them at Snow.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” My voice wavers. _Fuck_. I’m supposed to be wooing him, not embarrassing myself. He brings the flowers to his nose to inhale and I’m briefly jealous of the bouquet, so close to his lips. But then he’s pulling me across the threshold, wrapping his free hand around my waist and kissing me. My breath catches momentarily and I melt against him, my legs go soft and I’m so grateful for his strong arm holding me up.

In this moment, we feel like a typical couple. A couple that hasn’t fought and battled and watched each other come within a breath of our lives, a couple with two parents each instead of just one between the both of us, a couple that got to have a childhood. He deserves this moment, he deserves to be happy.

“I’d bring you flowers every day if that’s the greeting I’d get in return,” I say incredulously, letting my words stream out without censoring them.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” Simon’s voice is low and gravely. “You don’t even need to bring me flowers.”

Now _I’m_ the one who’s seriously swooning and debating whether we should scrap all plans that involve leaving this flat and see what fun we can get up to on the sofa. When he said he wanted wooing, I wasn’t prepared for it to be reciprocal.

Simon

Baz won’t tell me the plans for the evening. We’ve already had burgers (at a nice place, not Maccies) and now we’re headed to a second location. I’m a bit nervous, admittedly. I’ve not gone out to many places like the movies or concerts or any typical date places, and not knowing what to expect has me a bit on edge.

But Baz has picked places so far he knows I’ll like and be comfortable at. I know he’s taking care to pick well for me. We’re heading into the city center, so parking is more of a challenge. Baz finds a spot and slides the jag into it expertly.

He reaches for my hand as we approach a brightly lit building, all colors of neon and a line of people out front having a smoke, chatting and laughing. People are dressed all different ways, leather, crop tops, and lot’s of rainbows. I think this is a gay bar.

I lace my fingers through his and hold tight. He leans in, his lips nearly brushing my ear. “Is this ok?”

I flash him a smile and nod.

He opens the door for us and a rush of warm air and music thumping pulls me into this new world. I’m trying not to gape and stare, but the first thing I’m greeted with is a giant penis, painted gold. There appears to be a coin slot next to it, like those little rides for children.

I lean into Baz, “Is that a dick you can ride?” He laughs, open and loud.

“Yeah, I’ll give you £1 later, if you want,” he says, smiling and almost giddy. Baz and giddy do not seem like words I would have used in the same sentence before tonight.

He checks our coats so we don’t have to faff with them and leads me through a room with a bar and dance floor and then up the stairs to another section, where it’s somewhat quieter and chairs are lined up in front of a stage. The chairs are over half full, but we easily locate two seats together, near the end of a row. Where we could easily step away if needed. It eases my mind a bit, but I’m still wildly curious what will be happening on the stage lined with silver streamers.

Baz leans in to ask, “Can I get you something to drink?” (I’d go to bars anytime if I get to have Baz’s cool breath against my neck and lips ghosting my ear all night.)

“Coke, please,” I reply.

“Is it ok if I have a drink?” He asks. I smile in appreciation at his consideration and nod.

Baz

It takes a while to get the bartender’s attention, lots of people are trying to get drinks before the show starts. By the time I weave back to Simon, another bloke has sat beside him and is chatting him up.

I swallow, trying to clear the sudden tightness in my throat as I slide back into my seat on Simon’s other side. I hand him his drink, which the bloke glances at but his eyes snap right back to Simon, without acknowledging my presence.

For a moment, I sit awkwardly while he’s telling Simon he’s surprised he hasn’t seen him there before. I roll my eyes at his overused pickup line and suddenly that increasingly frequent feeling of impulsivity overcomes me again. Simon and I haven’t said we’re exclusive again or said the word ‘boyfriend,’ but I don’t care. He’s my date tonight. I slide my arm over his shoulders and I feel a subtle shift, the smallest release of tension.

His hand moves to my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if we’ve been in this easy rhythm for ages. He smiles a thank you at me for his drink and the heat of my jealousy melts into smugness. The bloke excuses himself and I’m suddenly very aware of all the contact between us.

I consider pulling my arm back to my side, I don’t know how much touch Simon is comfortable with. Public affection was never our thing before when we were together. Before I can even start the internal debate, though, the house lights dim and the stage lights flash on. Simon settles against my side and chest, making my mind up for me to keep my arm around him.

Simon

I sip my coke, waiting for the show (it must be a show of some kind, right?). Baz’s arm is resting across my shoulder. It feels easy and it feels weird that it feels easy. So little between us has ever felt easy. But tonight, we’re just two blokes on a date, falling in love like numpties and goblins and the humdrum were never a major part of our lives.

I push thoughts of the past away. I want to just be here, now. Someone shasays onto stage, in shoes that more closely resemble a high-rise than heels. A beautiful man in a long, red sequined dress with a slit to their hip begins welcoming the audience to the show, _Love is a Drag_ , cracking jokes and asking the audience for compliments on their dress. My mouth drops open, something between amazement and total delight. I get lost in the show, drag kings and queens lip-syncing to various love songs, the host making us laugh and cringe as they introduce each act.

The outfits get exceedingly elaborate and the final act is someone dressed in a bright blue dress, looking neon against their deep brown skin. It’s lined with blue fur and tall feathers shooting up over their head. They belt out the opening words to Lizzo’s _Cuz I Love You_ , actually singing, and the audience is stunned into practically silent reverence.

As soon as they finish the last note, we’re on our feet, clapping and cheering. I feel this rush of being part of something bigger than me. This collective experience and celebration of all things queer. It feels like there’s a place for me here, even if I don’t have words for my sexuality.

Baz

I keep glancing at Simon, wanting to absorb this through his eyes. He grinned and laughed throughout the show and now has joined the standing ovation. I can’t take my eyes off him. He turns to me, eyes shining and sparking, and says, conspiratorially, “Let’s dance.”

“Oh, no,” I shake my head. “I don’t really dance.”

After Simon broke up with me, I visited a few gay bars, this one included, in need of gay solidarity since all of my friends are straight. Ok, my two friends and my cousin are all straight. I quickly found I was only well suited for sulking at the bar or taking in a drag show, but I always found something here I hadn’t elsewhere in my life.

“ _Everyone_ dances, Baz,” he rolls his eyes and starts to tug me downstairs to the dance floor.

“Not well,” I mutter under my breath, because I don’t want to ruin Simon’s fun.

The bass thumps through my ribcage and Simon is dancing before we make it into the pulsing crowd. He isn’t a _good_ dancer, but he’s into it. He’s throwing his arms up and trying to shimmy his hips. I’m trying to move without making a fool of myself; I’m far too self-conscious to dance badly with abandon like Simon. I do a side step-tap mostly to the beat and I can feel my joints freezing up with the stress of it all.

Simon is bopping around to various groups of dancers who all gladly welcome him in. I glide to the edges of the crowd and then slip away to the bar for another fuzzy navel. I sip it slowly while watching Simon jump and wiggle, dancing around, lost in the rhythm. I admit this isn’t what I expected tonight. I wasn’t even sure what he would think of a drag show, but I haven’t seen this curious, playful side of him since the Renaissance Faire in America.

“Is that your boyfriend there?” I turn to see a woman who looks remarkably like Agatha, if Agatha had short hair and an undercut. She nods to where he’s currently twirling with a young woman with vibrant pinky-coral hair in a rainbow dress.

“Yeah,” I say before I can catch myself. “Well, not boyfriend, but my date, yes.” I stumble over my words. I don’t know why I feel compelled to explain the nuances of our relationship to a stranger, so I just say, “It’s complicated.”

She huffs. “I get that. That’s my girlfriend.” She nods towards Simon and his dance partner. “I’m Abby.”

She extends her hand. I take it and say, “Baz.

“You two seem like you have history. You seem like you’ve been together forever, but you’re only calling him your ‘date.’”

I grimace. She rushes to apologetically say, “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to overstep.”

“More like you got right to the heart of things,” I scoff. “How long have you two been together?”

“On and off for five years,” she replies. “You?”

I don’t usually share details of my personal life with anyone, let alone strangers. But something about this interaction is disarming me. The fact that she’s queer and we’re in a gay bar. And maybe a little bit it’s _because_ she’s a stranger, who I will likely walk away from and never see again.

“We met when we were 11.” She mouths the word ‘wow’ and I continue, “I figured out I was in love with him by 15. We were together for more than a year when we were 18, and then…”

I trail off, but Abby doesn’t hesitate to fill in the blank. “He broke up with you.” I nod. I can still feel the pain of it, but it doesn’t overwhelm me like it used to. It just is.

“I was the first woman Leah had ever been with,” Abby offers without prompt. “Being queer didn’t really fit in with her life, so she tried to move on. A couple times. But she’s here now.”

“Aren’t you afraid she’s going to leave again?” I ask because I have to know.

“Yeah. So fuckin’ scared. But I love her in the now, just as she is. A million and one things could change by tomorrow. Hell, _I_ could be the one who wants to leave in the end. Instead of holding too tightly to the past, or worrying about the future, I’ll live for today.”

Simon and Leah straggle over to us, red and sweating and smiling. We all introduce each other, and then Abby and Leah excuse themselves to head home.

Simon’s grinning at me (what’s new tonight?) and says, “Did you make a friend?”

“No,” I say defensively.

He laughs and I can’t help but be charmed into acquiescing. “I think you did. They seem really nice.”

“You think everyone is nice. You and Shep both would climb into a truck at the offer of sweets.”

“That sounds more like you with your sweet tooth,” he jokes. “Speaking of… I could really go for some pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Seems like an odd request.

“Yeah, big fluffy ones from America.”

I take a mental scan of every restaurant that could possibly offer American pancakes on their menu, but I come up empty. “Well, barring an impromptu trip across the Atlantic, I think you’ll have to settle for fish and chips or a pork pie.”

His expression changes, clearly plotting. “I know where we can get some.”

“Where?”

“ _My flat_ ,” he says so scandalously it feels like glitter running down my spine. I nod and we’re gathering coats to drive back to Simon’s flat in a whirlwind rush.

Simon

I take off my top shirt so I can release my wings and tail the minute we arrive at the flat, ringing the little bell I keep by the door. Baz sits at my tiny Ikea kitchen table, his legs extended long and crossed at the ankles, a sliver of skin between his socks and trouser distracting me. I think I have a thing for ankles. Or Baz’s ankles. Are ankle fetishes a thing?

“You’ve made these before?” He asks, referring to the pancake batter I’m mixing up.

“Shep taught me! He says pancakes are classic late night, post-pub food. There’s a restaurant in America, Perkins, that stays open all night. He goes there for pancakes and breakfast food in the middle of the night.” 

We talk about the drag show and our favorite acts while I flip pancakes and make some whipped cream. I sprinkle chocolate chips over each stack of pancakes, add a dollop of whipped cream and join Baz at the table.

“Did you honestly just make whipped cream from scratch?” He asks as I sit down.

My cheeks heat up. “Well, yeah, I mean, it isn’t really hard. And I’m more likely to have the ingredients than squirty cream.”

We eat for a bit in silence. I’m trying not to show how much I’m enjoying Baz enjoying my pancakes (I knew he would, he loves chocolate and sweet things.) He shifts and his socked foot bumps mine. I tilt my feet out of the way, but then his foot is bumping into mine again. _Oh_. 

His toes slide across my ankle and dip beneath the cuff of my jeans. I catch my bottom lip in my teeth and glance at Baz. He locks his eyes on mine as he draws a bit of cream into his mouth with his tongue. Maybe squirty cream would have been the more apt choice for tonight.

He brings another bite of pancake to his mouth and slowly draws the fork out with his eyes closed. I growl with the urge to tackle him which makes him smile conivingly, as if I’ve walked right into his evil plan. His toes work around to the back of my calf, hooking against me, pushing their way up to the back of my knee and then moving between my thighs.

Baz

Simon is apparently stupefied by the actions of my foot. His fork is drooping towards his plate, a piece of pancake sliding off and landing with a gentle plop into the whipped cream on his plate. It’s quiet but for his breathing and he’s so still, that he startles me when he pushes his plate aside and stands up abruptly.

His hand circles around my wrist, pulling me up, begging me wordlessly to follow him. I’d follow him anywhere, but as he leads me further into the flat, presumably towards his bedroom, I think, _especially there._

He yanks the chain on a small lamp by his bed so hard it wobbles before righting itself. He pushes me onto the bed, my heart picking up speed. His wings stretch wide and seem to help him glide over me until he has a hand on either side of my head on the comforter and a knee by each hip.

He holds himself over me while he asks, “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

I tip my head, giving him a half smile. “What am I doing to you?” I ask innocently, one eyebrow raised.

Another growl rises from his throat. “Flowers. Dinner. A show. _And_ dancing.” He spits them out like he’s accusing me of a string of crimes and I wonder what the punishment for them will be. “You didn’t want to save some wooing for the future?”

I grin wickedly. “Simon. Tonight was the smallest taste, an _amuse bouche_ , of the wooing I will unleash on you if you let me."

His mouth is on mine before I can take in another breath. My arms wrap around him, one hand between the base of his wings and another at the curve just above his trousers. His wings start to curl around us and I take the opportunity to flip him to his back and roll on top of him. He pushes his fingers through my hair, and his tongue into my mouth, kissing me deeply. He feels so incredibly _here_ , in the present with me. Every moment of this is a gift, and I accept all of it.

His hips are reaching for mine and I feel an ache in my trousers. I feel so wanted, desired and desirable, it’s twenty times more intoxicating than the cocktails at the bar. I run my hands under his thin undershirt, his skin soft and warm against my hands. His breath is ragged and uneven. He’s getting lost in our touches, our kisses, and I follow him.

His fingers trace the outline of my body, moving lower until the tips dip into the back of my trousers and pants. He doesn’t have the range to keep moving, I get the sense he’s frustrated by his limit. But he’s determined and doesn’t let this minor setback deter him. One arm snakes between us and then lower. I gasp and give into the pleasure coursing through me. I try to convey my gratitude by kissing him with abandon and it works so well, his hand eventually stills.

We find a rhythm that allows us enough space to breath without breaking the kisses for long. Simon moves me to my side on the bed, giving him excellent access to suck and run his teeth along my neck, while also working my belt and flies open. I’m certain it’s awkward and unbecoming, but I manage to wiggle out of my trousers without losing contact with Simon for more than a second or two.

Then, I return the favor, pulling his jeans past his ankles. I quickly scoop up my trousers from the floor and toss both onto a chair. They’ll be wrinkled to all hell, but I can’t be bothered to fold them neatly when Simon is draped across the bedspread in nothing but pants and undershirt (he’s already pushed off his socks.) The scene before me stops me in my tracks. He’s gorgeous, freckled skin golden in the soft light of the lamp, and the idea that I get to see him like this is surreal.

I kneel on the bed and carefully pull his shirt around each wing as he tucks them into his sides tightly, then lift the shirt over his head. I drop it to the side, uncertain of where it lands, my gaze unwavering, memorizing his details.

He leans forward to pull me into a long, slow kiss. He undoes my shirt buttons slowly, the intensity settles into a low, hot burning, like the embers of a fire. He places kiss after kiss across my lips, cheeks, jaw. He removes my button down, then my t-shirt, his kisses never ceasing, moving to each newly exposed area of skin. I shiver with the tenderness and sensuality of each gentle press of Simon’s lips and small licks of his tongue.

He makes his way back to my lips, kissing me passionately once more before sitting back on his heels to look at me.

Simon

“I suppose it’s time we talked about this,” I say, disappointed that there’s not an easy way to keep kissing Baz while we have this conversation. I think that might make it all quite a bit more tolerable.

A flash of fear moves across Baz’s face, “What is ‘this,’ exactly, Snow?” He doesn’t sneer, but I can sense it just below the surface. Our history has put him on the defensive.

“How, er, _if_ we want to move forward… with physical stuff,” I say, trying to be very clear. I bring both of his hands into mine and squeeze. He doesn’t squeeze back, but he also doesn’t pull away. I think I see him relax a tiny bit. “So, um, well, do you?”

“Do you?” He replies immediately. The words are sharp but I feel how desperately he needs to know that I want him.

“I do,” I say. “I’ve taken time to… explore… with myself. I watched gay porn!” I say that last bit with too much volume. 

“And?” Baz prompts for more.

“And… I liked it. A lot.” My cheeks are heating up. I don’t want him to think I’m embarrassed by what I watched, but talking about enjoying porn with your potential sexual partner is more of a mood killer than I expected it to be.

He huffs a small laugh, which helps ease my mind. “Okay. So, you’re feeling ready for more. What kinds of things are you thinking we might do?”

We spend almost half an hour discussing various sex acts and what we’d both be comfortable with. I’m not surprised Baz is ready for everything we talk about. I know I let him down when I was his terrible boyfriend before, even though he assured me it was fine. I wanted so badly to give him everything, but it was too much for me then. I don’t think it was because he’s a bloke and I hadn’t really known I was attracted to blokes until Baz. I think it would have been like that with anyone who had gone through everything we went through. To let so much joy and pleasure be in his hands, I wasn’t ready to trust anyone with all that.

We’ve shifted to lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and each other while we talk. After a long silence, Baz says, “Can I ask you what happened? That one time we almost…?”

I pause for an ungodly length of time, working words into place, and then gathering enough courage. “You, Baz, were all I had.” He starts to shake his head to disagree but I stop him. “That’s how I felt then. I didn’t think I had a future. I didn’t think I had a purpose. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. You had my everything: my past, present, and future. I thought if I shared sex with you, too, I might get lost in you and never resurface.”

“You needed to find yourself?”

“I sound really cliché, huh? But, yeah. I needed to find stable ground, and make sure I was living life on my own terms.”

He turns towards me to push my hair away from my forehead and I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye. “I worried that I was just a detour for you, a mistake that you’d look back on and laugh about.”

“Baz, I could never-” my voice catches and I can’t finish the thought. Instead, I say, “I love you.”

“I love you, Simon,” he says and then pulls me in against his bare chest. Our legs tangle around each other until we find a semi-comfortable arrangement. I tuck my hands under my chin and let myself be held by Baz, giving in to the vulnerability of placing a piece of my happiness in his care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I think this might be my favorite chapter. This is a bit of an homage to my first gay bar visit when I was a baby queer, where I saw a giant golden dick you can ride, a drag show, and found a place I felt I belonged. Shoutout to One Last Stop that really inspired me to incorporate my queer history. And if you ever want to visit the giant ride-able gold dick, it's at the Gay 90's in Minneapolis. <3
> 
> And last but not least, thank you to Dem @OtherWorldsLivedIn for letting me giggle like a 12-year-old boy in their DMs about _squirty cream_.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [@anika-222](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anika-222) and instagram as [@anika222.reads](https://www.instagram.com/anika222.reads/?hl=en) \- come say hi!


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